


Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Time

by caramel_sins



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Cunnilingus, Demons, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Maybe - Freeform, Millicent the cat - Freeform, Oral Sex, Smut, Witches, You Decide, but still cutesy?, enchanted forests, not as cutesy as the description would imply, spells, you know magic-y stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:46:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 43,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24135307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramel_sins/pseuds/caramel_sins
Summary: Rose Tico, a rather accomplished little witch, is in desperate need of herbs. Her wilting herb garden will not produce the plants she needs so she turns to dark magic to revive it. Unfortunately she does not revive her dying garden but instead summons the demon Armitage Hux to her small and unassuming cottage.Hijinks insue.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 100
Kudos: 135





	1. Parsley

Rose dropped the coriander into the cauldron with a wince. The water hissed with its new addition and she stirred it in watching as it combined with the other ingredients. She let the morning sun shine on the cauldron, whispering encouragement to her little potion hoping against hope it would work. 

The coriander had been a substitution. The spell actually called for parsley but she had no parsley, in fact her lack of parsley had brought her to the spell in the first place. The herds she had planted in early spring had not surfaced despite her diligent work and her tender care. Each morning she had sat and sung to the little seedlings, she had watered them when the weather had grown dry, she made sure they were able to soak in the sweet rays of the sun and yet they barely sprouted. 

When the villagers had made their way to her little cottage and begged for healing and potions she had to utilize the dry, less potent herbs in her stores. Out of sheer desperation she had turned to the old magical tome she hid beneath her bed. She had attempted a few spells from the book over the years to varying degrees of success. More often than not they yielded their desired results albeit with a few strange and dark caveats. A spell for fertility was successful but the farmer and his wife came back with three sets of twins and begged her to reverse it. An incantation for more luscious locks for the innkeeper's daughter resulted in the desired mane but caused a small patch of hair to grow on her back. In a fit of vanity Rose attempted a spell for more height that only caused her joints to ache and no real results, most likely due to her half hearted recitation of the incantations words. 

Rose was rather adept at magic despite the missteps she took. She knew small incantations for healing and childbirth. She knew the recipe for a love potion by heart, how to make a reluctant tongue tell the truth, how to make a bald man’s hair grow again. All these things she provided for the village and for her troubles they traded their food and goods willingly. No one would begrudge a kindly witch who lived far enough away from the village, who caused no real trouble, especially when she did not dabble in the darker arts. And now she would go back on the unspoken promise she had made with the village, to no longer dabble in these unnatural spells. But desperate times called for desperate measures. 

She had found the spell to enrich the earth and make plants grow strong and hearty on page three hundred and sixty four in the worn spell book. The list of ingredients for the potion had given her pause. She had no parsley, no eye of newt, no hair of an infant girl, and no tooth of a newborn kitten. She dug through her shelves searching for approximations. She was used to being industrious with what she had and she hoped against hope that her approximation combined with the words of the spell would have the desired effect. 

She had found the wing of a bat to replace the eye of newt, a newborn’s finger nail instead of hair, a tooth of a dog, and finally the aforementioned coriander instead of parsley. As the ingredients stewed in the cauldron Rose held her hands out over the steam. She closed her eyes and began to recite the incantation. 

“ _ Let thy seeds take root, let rise what is underfoot.  _

_ Turn darkness to light, bring day to night. _

_ Make creatures serve thy master, make what is slow be faster, _

_ Open thy heart to the rays of sun, and let thy will be done.”  _

For a moment nothing happened. Rose’s cottage remained silent except for the sound of the cauldron bubbling and Rose felt disappointment settle into her bones. She opened her eyes to see the room still bright, the morning sunlight casting the room in a warm light and dark shadow. She noticed the dust on her now empty shelves and let out a loud disappointed sigh. Approximations did not a spell make, she supposed.

She began to clear the table of her supplies, stacking dirty bowls and empty jars and bringing them over to her wash tub. She did not notice how the room grew darker and the shadows became more pronounced. She did not smell the sharp rotten scent of sulfur as it slowly crept into her tiny cottage. 

A sharp crack came from the bubbling cauldron. Sparks began to fly and shards of light began to ping around the room. Dark billows of smoke began to crawl forth from the bubbling water and filled the cottage, seeping into every corner like spilt ink. She coughed and her eyes watered as the black cloud of smoke began to swirl. In the middle of the dancing smog stood a figure disguised by the sooty air. As the smoke began to clear she saw that the figure was in fact a man. 

He stood tall, facing away from her toward the shelves of dried herbs and spices. He was dressed in all black his clothes made of fine dark wool and trimmings of velvet. A dark cloak fell over his shoulders making him look large and formidable.

“WHO DARES SUMMON THE DEMON HU-“ his speech was cut off by a fit of coughing as he inhaled smoke. He began to sputter and hack but regained his voice albeit with much more rasp. 

“WHO DAR-“ more hacking interrupted him. As Rose watched him struggle his words slowly formed into thought into her mind.  _ Did he say demon? _ Oh God she had summoned a demon. 

The demon was still coughing, great loud hollow sounding coughs, and she rushed forward, not thinking, and began to pat his back. His head whipped around to look at her. She was startled by beautiful sea green eyes and a shock of copper hair. He looked more man than demon, no horns or tail to set him apart from a mortal. His brow was pulled together in what could only be described as a scowl as he continued to cough. The room slowly lost its haziness and the smoke began to clear leaving Rose and her demon alone to assess each other. 

Hux did not know what he expected when he was summoned for the first time in a century but it certainly was not the little witch who stood beside him, patting his back as he hacked up a lung. 

It was rather embarrassing. He had intended to make an entrance, to dazzle, but he had come in facing the wrong direction and to top it all off he had inhaled too much smoke and now his lungs burned with his hubris. So much for first impressions. 

He eyed the woman as she stood beside him, a nervous smile gracing her lips. Though diminutive she was rather alluring for a mortal. Her long dark hair was braided and wrapped around her head, only a few black stands fell into her warm brown eyes. A simple dark green dress revealed a soft and curvaceous form and a beautifully embroidered set of stays did wonders for her breasts. Round cheeks flushed with color and Hux was reminded of all the things about mortality that had once been attractive to him. Blushes on maiden’s cheeks, the sweep of dark lashes, full plush lips formed into coy smiles. For a moment Hux felt all the emotions of his long denied humanity ripple through his veins. As quickly as they came they flitted away leaving only confusion and annoyance. 

“Who the hell are you?” He asked his voice sharp. He watched her flinch and back away in fear.  _ Good _ ,  _ she should fear me _ , he thought. Yet he could not help the little twinge of disappointment at the look of hesitation in her eyes. 

“Rose, and you are?” She asked politely while still creating as much distance between them as she possibly could.

“My name is Hux,” He replied with a bow, a reward for her politeness. She returned it with an awkward curtsy. He almost chuckled at the confused look on her face as she stumbled into it, unused to the formality. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Hux, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” She replied as she gestured to the door of her small cottage.

“ _ Leave?” _ He scoffed. He strode toward the little witch, watching as she scrambled away from him. She was unsuccessful, his strides large and purposeful as he backed her up against the wall. Dried lavender assaulted his senses as her head hit a bundle hanging from a hook.

“Sorry to disappoint you, little witch, but once summoned a demon cannot be returned.” Her eyes widened and he watched as she took a gulp. 

“But it was a mistake! I never meant to summon you, I just wanted some damned parsley!” She cried, execurbattion clouding her features, replacing her fear.

“Parsley?” He asked, his face falling into a confused scowl. 

“And other herbs, but parsley mostly.” She sighed. He had backed away from her in his confusion, releasing her from the wall. Instead of enjoying her new freedom she slumped down to the floor, dropping her head in her hands. 

“How did I muck this up so badly?” She said more to herself than to him. For a moment he felt pity for Rose as she hung her head in disappointment. She looked so forlorn as she sat on the floor of her small cottage trying to understand why a demon had appeared instead of her desired parsley.  _ Parsley? _ His first summoning in a century and it was all an ill conceived spell for  _ parsley. _ He groaned aloud at his shit luck.

Rose snapped back to attention at the sound of Hux’s frustrated groan. He stood one hand on his hip the other was pinching the bridge of his nose in a pose that was a perfect picture of abject frustration.

“Will your master not take you back? Certainly he would understand an honest mistake?” Hux laughed bitterly at that. 

“The Prince of Darkness is not one to care about honest or dishonest mistakes. And as of my summoning, my only master is  _ you _ ,” she stared at him in shock. 

“That can’t be right,” she shook her head in disbelief. She stood quickly, too quickly her head spun and her knees swayed. She felt a hand on her arm steadying her and she looked to see long pale fingers wrapped around the sleeve of her dark green dress. She steadied herself and Hux released her once he seemed sure she could stand on her own two feet again. 

“Thank you,” she said and he simply nodded in reply. She began to pace thinking about all Paige had taught her about witchcraft. Snippets of conversations about the nature of magic swirled in her mind but they flitted away, quickly pushed out by her growing anxiety and the nearness of a bloody demon! 

What had she done? She was a good witch, goddammit! She wasn’t supposed to commune with demons. She was supposed to bring children into the world and make poultices for arthritic old women and send blessings to newlyweds. And now she had tied herself to a creature of the underworld. 

She turned to said creature who stood in the middle of her cottage watching her. He was so tall his head almost brushed the thatched roof of her small cottage. His copper hair was mostly slicked back into place save a few strands that flopped over his forehead. He regarded her with naked curiosity, his green eyes scanning her as if something in her person would reveal a secret that he was yet to uncover. 

“I do not wish to be your master, Hux. I would never wish to have that kind of power over another person.” 

“It does not matter what you wish, the deed is done. I am your servant from now until you no longer require me,” he said this dispassionately but the scowl he wore spoke to his own discomfort with the situation. 

“But I do not require you,” Rose stated, her voice coming out a pitiful whine. 

“You obviously do since I am still in your nasty little cottage and not home in Hell.” She stomped her foot and let out an exacerbated groan. He scoffed at the display. 

“No amount of whining and stomping will send me back so you might as well get used to my presence.” She glared at him and he simply shrugged as he walked over to her now still cauldron peering inside. 

“Is that a bat wing?” He asked as he reached in pulling out the shriveled wing. 

“Yes,” she replied watching as he inspected it. 

“What spell for parsley calls for  _ batwing _ ?” He asked, his face scrunched up in confusion. She stomped over snatching the shriveled batwing from his hand and felt a surge of pride at the way he jumped back in shock at her quick movement. 

“It wasn’t a spell for  _ parsley,  _ it was to make all my herbs grow. And it didn’t strictly call for batwing. I had to improvise.” She replied angrily as she began to heave her cauldron off its chain attempting to discard the useless potion in her pit. 

“ _ Improvise! _ One does not  _ improvise _ a spell. Magic is an exact science.” He followed her, not once offering to help her with the heavy cauldron she heaved towards the door.  _ Some servant he was.  _

“Well I know that now.” She grumbled. As she reached the door he seemed to realize his mistake, reaching for the handle of the cauldron. 

“Give me that, little witch,” he took it with ease and she nodded her thanks and followed him outside. 

“It goes in the pit over there,” she pointed to it and let him pour out the potion that had summoned him. 

She turned to her little herb patch and sighed. Still nothing grew and now nothing would. It’s barren little mound resembled a freshly turned grave, a harbinger of the death of her hope for self sufficiency. Distantly she heard Hux approach her, empty cauldron in hand. She turned to him, eyes scanning him, wondering what use he would be to her as a servant. At least she wouldn’t be quite as lonely anymore, she supposed.

“What are your skills, Mr. Hux?” She asked as they made their way toward the cottage. 

“It’s just Hux.” He replied stiffly as he dusted off his boots at the mat in front of her door. 

“I have many skills: curses, hexes, enchantments, other demon related activities.” He listed off his many devious skills on his long fingers. Lost in his explanation he dinged his head on the doorway cursing as he ducked to enter the cottage. With a flick of his wrist Rose watched as the doorway extended an inch so Hux could clear it without incident. 

“Bending objects to your whim can be added,” she laughed as she watched him rub his forehead with a deep frown. 

“Consider that my first favor. Just because you’re the size of a faerie queen does not mean your humble abode cannot accommodate normal sized people,” she continued to laugh at his expense. Watching as he flopped on one of the chairs tucked next to her table. 

“Well I am in no need of curses or hexes but I could always use a little help around the house, collecting wild herbs, you know witchy things,” she said as she gathered up her failed herb potion ingredients and returned them to her shelves. 

“I can be more useful than that! I am a demon not a serving wench. I can fulfill your deepest desires, cause harm to come to your enemies, make kingdoms crumble at your whim!” He said the sentence with passion but his pose was bored as if he had enough of repeating such requests. Rose wondered how often he had been called to do someone’s dark bidding.

“I have no use for kingdoms or smiting imaginary enemies. I am a simple witch with simple needs. I’m afraid you would serve me best by helping me with my daily tasks.” She replied. 

He let out a loud sigh as he rested his head in his hands watching as she put her house back to order. She was swift in her movements sweeping up fallen herbs, returning her book of spells to the place under her bed. With a flick of her wrist the broom in the corner swept up the floor behind her as if animated by an invisible maid. He watched mesmerized as a pitcher on her dresser arose and filled the basin without so much as a word spoken from her lips. 

Despite her ill conceived parsley potion this witch was rather accomplished in the realms of magic. Her everyday spells were cast with grace and efficiency he rarely saw in others. Sure, they were not life altering spells but they were smooth and elegant, barely disturbing the world around them. 

She looked young, not yet out of her twenties, making her skill all that more impressive. Centuries as a demon had smoothed out the edges of Hux’s powers but it had taken him many decades to achieve that. She was more skilled than she let on. Which made her little misstep all the more annoying.

“You really should have known better. You are obviously an accomplished little witch,” he said gesturing to her animated broom and pitcher, “a spell to grow herbs should have been easy.” 

She sighed, flicking her wrist again, letting the broom rest in the corner.

“These spells come easy, the spell I attempted was dark, complicated. Bending nature to your will instead of working with it makes witches, such as myself,  _ uneasy _ .” She replied worrying her hands together.

“And it arose from desperation not coaxed out as gently as these assisting spells often are.” She made her way to the table pulling out the chair across from them and sitting. She looked weary and mirrored his earlier pose resting her head in her hands squishing her round cheek up on her right side. 

He huffed looking away and out the window that faced the front of her cottage. He spotted the little herb garden, barren save for a few measly sprigs of basil that had sprouted up through the soil. 

“Well I have no issue bending nature to my will. And darkness, little witch, is my specialty.” He stood abruptly and walked toward the door. Rose shot up too, scrambling to follow him out her newly heightened door. 

He strode over to the sad little herb patch and placed his hands in the cool moist soil feeling for the life inside it. Distantly he felt the seedlings and tired roots come to life. He could feel the magic dance past his fingers and slide through the earth. In a matter of moments leaves shot out of the earth and Hux was rewarded by Rose’s delighted squeal as her herbs grew before her eyes. 

Rosemary exploded forth in a large and fragrant bush, lavender, coriander, feverfew, chamomile grew and flowered within seconds, St. John’s wort and milk thistle twisted out from the earth in quick succession. And finally parsley grew in great abundance quickly out pacing the others and spreading outside of its allotted space in the garden. Rose clapped in delight and gave Hux a large incandescent smile as he stood dusting off his hands. He blushed at her look of admiration and avoided eye contact but her joy was infectious and he could not help the small smile that graced his lips. 

“Oh you will be quite helpful after all,” she said as she gently touched the chamomile. 

“This is nothing, Rose, you should dream bigger,” he said, bored already by the idea of using his magic for gardening. 

“I told you, my dreams are simple: herbs, a cozy and clean cottage, and bringing joy and healing to the village. I have no need for your many dark powers. This,” she said gesturing to her overflowing herb garden, “is all I need.”

He scoffed but could not help the surge of pride at the sight of his handiwork. He supposed he could find amusement in catering to her simple needs and perhaps with the right amount of coaxing he could convince her to utilize his darker powers.

She smiled as she removed a pair of sheers from her dress pocket and began snipping the herbs from their bushes. 

“Would you fetch my basket, please?” She asked Hux as she busied herself not looking up from the rosemary. He frowned at her.

“That is not what my services are for, little witch,” He folded his arms across his chest and glared at her. She looked up and blew at a strand of hair that fell into her eyes. 

“Pretty please,” she asked, batting her eyelashes rapidly in a mockery of humility. He huffed but made his way toward the cottage in search of her basket. 

“Thank you,” she called, “it’s on a hook by the fireplace.”

He found it right where she said it would be. It sat by the fireplace looking rather pathetic. It was woven atrociously, large gaps between each weave, and it was battered by extended use. It was frankly, unacceptable.

As he wrapped his hand around the handle he sent a small spark of magic and immediately the sad little basket turned into a beautifully woven bag. Where the weave of its predecessor had been large and uneven, this one had a tight and uniform weave that left no room for contents to spill out. The reeds it was made of were sturdier and fresher, making the basket smell sweet like freshly shorn grass. Pleased with his handiwork, Hux strode out of the little cottage toward his master.

She looked up as she heard him approaching, face flushed and hands full of herbs. She smiled at him as he approached and he felt for a moment as if his heart stopped. She looked rather beautiful with her hair a mess and her cheeks stained pink. Again, for the first time in a very long time, Hux felt the pull of mortality. He could remember, for a moment, what it felt like to be fully human. The feeling danced along his skin but it flitted away as fast as it came making him feel empty and embarrassed. 

“That’s not my basket,” she said as she looked down at Hux’s creation.

“How astute you are,” he replied dryly.

“Very funny. What did you do to my basket?” She took it from his hands placing her herbs inside while inspecting the weave with a distracted smile. 

“Improved it,” he replied. 

“Thank you, it’s lovely,” she said as she smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. He blushed at her attention looking away from her face and reaching a hand out to pull a sprig of rosemary off the branch. 

“No need to be polite, it’s what I’m supposed to do.” He took the rosemary and smelled it taking in the sharp, warm earthy scent of it. 

“It was still kind of you to do so,” she replied. 

He shrugged in response as he took the rosemary in his mouth and began to chew letting its flavor envelope his senses. It had been so long since he tasted anything but ash. 


	2. Thyme

The day passed as usual for the most part. Rose went about her chores and received sparing help from Hux. He grew restless as the day went on. He paced about the garden and banged around the cottage trying to find other items to improve upon.

He turned her clay bowls and plates into finely painted china. Her basin and pitcher changed from their earthy orange color to a dark green. An old dress was made new under his touch, decorated with embroidery that resembles the herbs in her new patch. It seemed he did these things mostly out of boredom but she could tell a part of him enjoyed the way she marveled at his power and how she thanked him for his gifts. He shrugged off her gratitude and acted as if these were actions he did for his own benefit not hers but she saw the way he blushed at her praise. Who knew a demon could blush?

Besides his surly attitude, Hux did not behave as a demon should. At least that’s what Rose thought. She assumed demons were angry and cruel but Hux was neither of those things. He was grumpy, sure, and he made disparaging comments about the state of her cottage but there was no real venom behind his words. He ate the dinner she made with shocking gusto. He barely surfaced for air as he ate the hardy stew she had whipped up from leftover beef and vegetables. When he did it was to grab another hunk of rosemary bread. She laughed at his enthusiasm.

“Do they not feed you in Hell,” she asked.

“No,” he replied around a mouthful of bread. She quirked an eyebrow in surprise. 

“Why not?” He shrugged as he swallowed.

“Earthly pleasures are not for those of us relegated to the underworld. We must be summoned to enjoy the taste of food, to feel the pleasures of the flesh.” He replied a faint blush coloring his cheeks and ears. She wanted to ask why a demon would blush at the idea of  _ pleasures of the flesh  _ but knew if she did she would be blushing herself. 

“Well slow down or you’ll make yourself sick.” He shook his head as he shoveled in another mouthful of stew. 

“Demons do not feel discomfort,” he mumbled. She hummed thoughtfully, wondering about the confines of demon-hood. They could feel no comfort, pleasure, or pain. Perhaps the punishments of hell were not pain but the lack of any feeling, of perpetual nothingness. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. 

“Are you glad you were summoned?” She asked when he had finally slowed down. 

“It is better than languishing in the underworld. Days seem to go by quicker here,” he replied noncommittally. He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her for a moment.

“If I have more to do than garden and keep house perhaps I will grow to enjoy my summoning,” he drawled, narrowing his eyes in challenge. Rose simply shrugged. 

“Who knows what my future will bring?” He perked up at that and leaned forward a mischievous smile gracing his lips.

“I can find out, if you wish,” he seemed excited by the possibility of divining her future. Rose shook her head.

“No one should know their future,” Hux sighed at her answer and leaned back, crossing his arms. A noise from her loft broke his stance as he looked up to see a fat orange cat leap down from the loft to Rose’s dresser and then to the floor. 

Millicent immediately went over to Hux curious about this new visitor. To Rose’s astonishment Hux’s bored expression turned to one of genuine delight at the sight of Millicent. He reached out a hand for her to inspect. The pleased smile on his face grew as Millicent rubbed her head against his hand in invitation. The sight of his genuine smile was something to behold. The corners of his eyes crinkled and his face developed a youthful glow that was shockingly alluring. 

“Demons like cats?” She asked as he gently lifted Millicent into his lap. 

“This one does,” he replied as he stroked Millicent’s chin, her eyes closing in rapturous delight. 

“Are there cats in hell?” The look Hux gave her was a cross between murderous and naked condescension.

“Of course not,” he practically spat. She held her hands up in mock supplication chuckling at his over the top defensiveness. 

“Cats, like most animals, are morally good. Creatures such as this lovely one,” he scratched behind Millicent’s ear for emphasis, “are much too good for the underworld.” 

“Are there any animals in hell?” She asked as she reached forward to scratch Millicent’s now neglected chin. She could feel her purring in appreciation at the attention. 

“Yes, but just a few. There are dolphins, of course. Horrid creatures that they are, they thrive in the rivers there. Some primates as well but I assume they are there more to torture the other inhabitants rather than any earthly misdeeds. Monkeys are truly the worst,” he shivered at the mere thought of them making Rose laugh.

“You would not laugh if you had to live with them. They are little thieves with nimble fingers. And they are vengeful creatures! If you cross them they do not forget and torment you ceaselessly,” Rose continued to laugh imagining small primates attacking her demon with unrestrained glee. 

Hux frowned at her mirth but his features softened as she began to tear up. Her laughter grew loud and unrestrained. And to his shock and horror he began to chuckle as well.

“They can be quite amusing when their ire is not directed at you,” he conceded with a soft laugh. 

“You should laugh more,” Rose commented as her own laughing subsided. She wiped at her eyes and got up to clear the table. Hux no longer looked at her, attention drawn back to Millicent. 

“Leave those, I will take care of the washing,” he called to her. She was about to protest but before her eyes the dishes were clean and they floated to their positions on the shelf above her. He had barely looked up from the cat perched on his lap and once again Rose marveled at his powers and casual kindness. 

She wondered again how this could be so. Creatures of darkness should not be so kind. She felt a certain tension as if at any moment the other shoe would drop and the handsome facade would fall to reveal the nasty creature beneath. But something told her it would not come, and that perhaps mortal concepts of good and evil could not be so easily placed. The thought made her feel strange and untethered. She shook it off allowing her mind to file it away for examination at a later date.

She wandered back over to the table picking up some mending on the way. She settled back into her seat and Hux looked up, eyes flitting to the stocking she was decorating. He made a gesture as if he was ready to fix it with the flick of his wrist but she held up her hand.

“There is joy in fixing,” she said as a way to stave off his itching fingers. He frowned in thought but soon went back to petting the contented cat on his lap. 

“Her name is Millicent, by the way,” Rose announced as she covertly observed his fawning, eyes darting to him every so often. 

“A dignified name for a dignified creature. I’m rather surprised, little witch, I assumed you would have named her something twee, like Fluffy or Ginger,” he continued to stroke Millicent but his attention was back on Rose studying her as she continued her embroidery. 

“You have such a low opinion of me, Hux.” 

“I have a low opinion of humanity in general, please do not take personal offense,” he replied dryly. 

“That’s a pity. There is much to admire in the world. It must be rather dreary to only see its faults.” She still did not look up from her embroidery but her posture had slowly titled toward him as if she was waiting for his conversation eagerly. The sight of her instinctual conscientiousness felt strangely familiar. It reminded him of a distant feeling something akin to peace. It sat in some dusty corner of his conscience obscured by disuse and distance and something in him warned that following that thread would lead to emotions he was unwilling to face. 

“When you see as much as I have you will feel differently,” he said dispassionately leaning back in his chair. 

“Oh how I hate when people say that. It’s almost always dismissive old men who look down on you for not finding fault in every aspect of humanity. They confuse cynicism with wisdom and hopefulness for naivete. It’s rather exhausting,” he turned to her with a frown. 

“I am a centuries old demon. I believe I reserve the right to find fault in humanity after all this time,” he replied bitterly.

“Centuries? Really? You don’t look so old,” she finally looked up from her work, tilting her head to assess him. 

“We are allowed to keep our youthful exterior. One of the few benefits of forfeiting one’s soul,” he replied dryly. 

“Well that’s a relief. It would be much more difficult to tolerate your presence if you had centuries of decay hanging about you. I’m glad I only have to contend with your surly nature,” Rose replied with a wry smile. 

“Ha ha, very funny.” Hux bit back. Rose chuckled gently as she turned her attention back to her work. 

“Did you look like this when you were alive?” She asked quietly, her curiosity eclipsing her manners.

“More or less. My clothing is more updated, I suppose. A bit nicer than what I could come by in my day but other than minor details I looked as I do now,” he held out his arms as if to display his unchanged countenance. 

Rose studied him for a bit. His clothes, as he pointed out, were fine. A black velvet doublet, Nicely tailored wool breeches and finely made hose. His cloak, though simple, was magnificently crafted finished with velvet trim and silver buttons. He looked like a prince in a fairy tale albeit a dark one. 

His face was nicely formed as well, if Rose was forced to admit it. High cheekbones, a defined jaw, and plush lips came together in a rather handsome picture. Though light, his lashes were long and his hair was thick and beautifully colored. She wondered if he told the truth or if his lovely visage was the work of some dark magic. For some reason she doubted it.

After a moment she realized she had been staring and blushed turning away. She missed the small smile that graced Hux’s lips at the sight of her pink cheeks.

“How old were you when you became...what you are?” She asked, trying to distract from her momentary lapse into naked admiration. 

“Can’t quite recall. In my thirties, I suppose.” He replied distractedly as he picked at the peeling paint on the table. 

“Do you remember how it happened?” She asked.

“Yes.” He replied stiffly. His tone was final and Rose did not wish to shatter the camaraderie they had been building over the course of the day. So she nodded and returned her attention to her work. The room grew silent except for the light snores of a sleeping Millicent on Hux’s lap and the rasp of thread going through cloth. Rose yawned and began to feel her eyelids droop. She found a good place to stop and set her work aside. She stood and stretched and turned to Hux with a weary smile. 

“I, for one, am exhausted. I’m going to retire. Do you need anything?” She asked Hux who had turned at the sound of her movement. 

“I am your servant, Rose. I need nothing from you,” he replied with a weary sigh as if he was tired of explaining the nature of their relationship to her. 

“I know but I still care for your comfort, Hux. It is what people do for each other.” He merely grunted in reply.

“Do you sleep? Rest?” She asked as she made her way to her small bed. It was large enough for two, Paige and Rose had shared it for years, but the idea of sharing it with Hux was daunting. Not only was he much larger than Paige ever was, she was not entirely comfortable with the idea of sharing a bed with Hux. 

“No I do not,” he replied to Rose’s relief. 

“What do you do then?” She asked as she began to untie her apron running her hands over it, magic flitting from her fingers cleaning the soiled fabric. Hux’s eyes were trained on her magic with curiosity. 

“Usually just mill about. I am bound to you and cannot go far,” he replied, still distracted by her cleaning spell. 

Rose frowned not liking the idea of him just floating about the cottage bored. 

“If I gave you permission, could you go where you pleased?” She asked. He looked up at her and drew his eyebrows together in confusion.

“Why would you do that?” 

“I don’t want you to be bored. To just sit about for eight hours in the dark is not enjoyable and I’m sure you want to do as you wish for at least part of your time on earth,” his brows furrowed further and his confusion seemed to double.

“Why would you care what I do?” He investigated further his voice taking a wary tone.

“I do not wish to own you nor to own your time. If you are only allowed to enjoy earthly pleasures every other century I believe you should be entitled to some pleasures of your own, don’t you?” He grunted a noncommittal answer and turned from her running his hand through his hair as if in thought. The smooth coiffe he had earlier was disturbed as his red hair fell in different directions. She noted that he looked nicer, softer, with his hair askew. 

“I can only leave your side if it is in the form of a command and if there is a promise of a return.” He said his voice low as if he was afraid someone would overhear him. 

“Well I command you to do what you will and go where you want to go during the night as long as you return by mid morning.” She smiled, pleased by her little victory and was rewarded by a timid smile from Hux. 

“Well scurry off, my friend, so I may get ready for bed in peace.” She shooed him out the door and closed it behind him without so much as a second glance, glad to have some time to mull over how much her life had changed in a matter of a day. 


	3. Cinnamon

Hux stood in front of Rose’s little cottage in a state of confusion. He frowned as Rose’s words came back to him,  _ “I do not wish to own you nor to own your time.” _

What the fuck did that mean? By the very nature of summoning, of being a bloody demon, his time was hers and hers alone until she did not require him any longer. Then his time was forfeited back to Hell for all of eternity or until he was summoned once again. And the cycle would continue. But in this little way Rose had broken the cycle, she had given him hours of time to himself. If she lived a long and full life and required him for all of it he would be given years of time to himself, to do as he pleased, to live.

The idea of it left him breathless for a moment. Rose had no idea what she had done with her little command. She barely understood what it meant to be a demon and what it meant to be bound as he was. But he could not help but admire her kindness, her compassion. It was a useless and selfless emotion that would not serve her in the future but she seemed undisturbed, in fact it came easy to her like her magic. 

It was astounding how she wielded her power, so smooth and precise. She made magic look like breathing, it did not drain her or disturb her countenance. Magic flowed from Rose like water from a stream. It was an incredible sight and made her more admirable than Hux was willing to admit. He could hear her moving about the cottage, tidying before she slept. He peered through the front window and saw she had stripped down to her shift and was washing her face in the basin he had turned green. He turned away quickly, feeling as if he had seen something he ought not to. 

He looked out into the dark forest and pondered where he might go. The world was open to him for the next eight hours and though he had seen much of it he had no idea where he should go. He thought briefly of going home but the thought turned his stomach. Though much must have changed since his life as a man, the idea of returning to that place sent a chill down his spine. 

He thought of his last summoning, of that little bookshop in that bustling eastern city. He remembered the old man who had summoned him to protect his grandson in battle. He remembered how he had given him his nicest silks and his best food and even offered his maid to him, a tribute. He had worn the silks, eaten the food, and left the maid to her own devices. She had shivered at the sight of him, she had not seen a man like him before, and was fearful of what it would mean to bed a demon. 

He had disliked much of that summoning. He had to travel through horrid terrain and oversee bloody battle after bloody battle in order to protect this old man’s grandson. The boy though brave was deeply stupid. Keeping him alive was a monumental task. One he was able to fulfill but after the battles were done and the war was won there was nothing to stop the boy and his brave stupidity. He was killed in a scuffle in the street, his blood spilled not on the dirt of a battlefield but on the stones of the street in front of his grandfather’s shop.

What Hux did enjoy of his time in the eastern city had been the food. Nothing in the world he had seen compared to the spices of their food. Warm, soft bread dipped in garlic and herbs. Poultry slowly cooked in spices and sauces that defied logic in their combination and resulting deliciousness. Little pastries filled with delectable fruits and vegetables made Hux’s mouth water and his eyes closed as he thought about them on his tongue. 

He opened them and found himself on the street that the bookshop had been on, though now the old storefront sold fabric of many different colors. He walked down to the busy market on the corner where food and other wares had been sold for centuries. Though night had fallen in the forest where Rose now slept the sky was still the dark orange of sunset here and the streets were busy.

He came upon an old woman whose cart boasted a chicken dish in a spicy fragrant sauce. He could smell cinnamon and garlic and spices he could not identify with his limited knowledge. He let a sigh out as he inhaled deeply. Distantly he heard a gasp and he slowly cracked an eye open to peer at the old woman before him. 

Her warm dark skin was deeply lined and folded with age. Large dark eyes peered out from her sagging skin and he felt a creeping sensation of familiarity fall over him. Those eyes large and apprehensive reminded him of that cowering maid in the booksellers shop and though much time had passed apparently she had not. 

“You!” She pointed at him and her shock morphed into delighted surprise.

“Me,” he replied dryly and she laughed a wheezing little chuckle as she hobbled around her cart beckoning him closer. He obliged her moving toward her and stooping slightly to match her diminutive height. 

“In all my days I never thought I would see you again,” her voice was light and merry as if she were happy to see him.

“It must be a good amount of time since you last saw the likes of me,” he replied, studying her. She was older than she should have been. She had lived well past what most mortals do.

She smiled and her skin crinkled further her lips parting to reveal gaps between her teeth.

“It’s your blessing that’s kept me in fighting shape for so long. Much longer than I should have been,” she reached out and grabbed his arm to steady herself and brought him toward her pulling him in as if to tell him a secret, something shared between old friends.

“Did you know what you did back then?” She asked, one bushy white eyebrow raised. He looked away from her and out at the crowds of people walking the street. A few glanced in his direction. He knew he stood out in the crowd and had made pains to remain anonymous amongst them but she had sniffed him out, her power greater than she knew. 

“I had a vague idea. The blessing I gave you was not precise,” she let out a loud laugh at Hux’s reply.

“Vague, indeed, my old friend. But you should know it was a good one. I have lived a long and very happy life. Come, let me give you thanks,” she pulled him to her cart. He saw a boy, one on the cusp of manhood, pulling dough out of a small burning oven. He looked up as they approached and stared at Hux with open amazement.

“Is that him?” He asked, turning to the old woman eyes wide. She nodded and reached for the boy pulling him toward Hux.

“This man here is the reason you know your great great grandmother. Without him I would be dust,” she smiled warmly at Hux and brought the boy closer. He peered up at Hux, his expression wary but curious.

“A demon in the flesh,” the boy whispered to no one in particular. 

Hux felt odd. For a moment he felt trapped like a cornered animal. He desperately wanted to run, to avoid this. He had done a kind thing a long time ago and he had hoped he would never have to face this gratitude. 

He had not liked the bookseller. He was not like his other masters. They were overtly cruel: kings with slaves at their feet, generals who wanted more bloodshed, lords who desired power and riches in exchange for the lives of the lowly. The bookseller’s request seemed altruistic; let his grandson live beyond the war. But his meaning was plain. He feared his own demise, his ruined legacy.

His daughter had been a smart woman, capable, and yet he underestimated her. She was clever enough to run the bookshop and would have run it better than her father before her. Yet he belittled her, called her horrid names, beat her when she corrected his figures or when his meal was not on time and never showed her the love he poured on to his foolish grandson.

He was cruel in little ways to those he felt weak and beneath him. He was cruel in the way he hit the maid for missing dust, for the way he spat on her when she did not make tea to his liking. He was cruel in the way he touched her when he thought no one was looking. He liked to see the women in his life weep just to feel power in his veins. He had reminded Hux too much of someone he had promised himself he would forget. 

As the war ended and the grandson made his way home Hux’s time had begun to run out. The maid had come to him late at night with a bowl of her delicious food as offering. He had taken it gleefully, digging in with gusto. She had smiled at him, much as she did now, with warmth and pride. 

“My dark friend, may I ask for a blessing before you go? I know I did not bring you here but perhaps the food I gave you will suffice,” Hux had simply nodded as he spooned the food into his mouth. 

Once he was done he reached his hand out and grabbed her wrist, closing his eyes and attempting to remember how to give a good blessing. When the magic came forth it ached, like a weak muscle finally being used. Now he could barely recall what he had sent but he knew he had wished for happiness, that she would shake off the shackles he could not and find the littlest of joys in life.

It was not long before he was called back and he was grateful for it. He had felt uncomfortable at the way she looked at him from that moment on. Her eyes had been filled with naked admiration and gratitude and it made his skin crawl and guilt flower in his stomach. She acted like he was a good man, one deserving of such things and he was most assuredly not. 

Those twin feelings of unease and guilt roared to life now as she showed him her great great grandson, as she revealed snippets of her happy life to him. 

“Enough,” he held up his hand to stop her thanks to him, to make the boy look away from him. 

“I came here for your food, not tiresome conversation.” The maid laughed loud and full, gesturing for the boy to make Hux a plate. 

“Still a surly one, aren’t you?” She said as she handed him a steaming bowl of meat and rice and the delicious spiced sauce he dreamed of often. The first bite was heaven, or at least what Hux assumed it was like. He forced himself to slow down as he took one bite after another closing his eyes in rapturous delight. 

“No one appreciates my cooking as much as you do, my friend,” the old woman observed as she watched him eat his fill. 

“No one cooks as good as you, not in heaven or in hell,” Hux conceded as he practically licked his bowl clean. 

“You humble me,” she said, taking the bowl away from him, her hands gentle. 

“It is the truth,” he replied as he stood from the stool they had gotten for him. So enraptured by the meal he did not even realize he had sat down. 

“Is that why you came back?” She asked. He nodded watching as she slowly began to pack up her wares. The boy scurried about her to help his eyes darting back to Hux every once and awhile. Hux sighed and waved his hand in the air and watched as the cart and all its trappings came together and closed for the evening. The boy watched in shock and fell to his knees in front of Hux bowing in thanks.

“Get up, boy! You embarrass me,” Hux hissed. The boy rushed to a standing position and apologized before he went back to the cart preparing to pull it home. 

“Will I see you again, old friend?” The old woman asked standing from her stool slowly. She walked toward the packed cart glancing over her shoulder waiting for Hux’s answer. 

“Perhaps.” Was Hux’s simple reply. She laughed at that and wagged an old gnarled finger in his direction. 

“Oh, I believe I will.” 


	4. Truffles

By the time Hux had returned it was well into the morning. He had spent the remainder of his time in the city walking down empty streets and observing the sleeping metropolis. He stroked the heads of alley cats and listened to music spilling out from open windows. It was a lonely walk but it was pleasant. 

Now he stood near the garden he had created watching as wet laundry floated out the open window and clipped itself onto the awaiting clothesline. Hux could hear Rose’s voice singing a [tune](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=YebCT7RBG7c) about spring as the wet clothes floated along to the rhythm. Her voice lifted and fell with a full warmth. The door was propped open and Millicent lay on its threshold head resting on her paws. Rose stood over her wash basin back to the door. Her voice rose as the song crescendoed and she flung her arms out theatrically. 

She turned then and jumped at the sight of Hux, her hand flying to her chest in shock. The floating laundry stuttered and Hux threw out a hand before it tumbled to the dirty ground.

“My goodness, Hux! You scared the living daylights out of me!”

“My apologies, I did not realize I would be interrupting a performance,” Hux replied dryly as he watched her regain her composure and lift her sagging laundry back aloft and out the window.

“Singing helps the magic’s rhythm,” she mumbled, blushing in embarrassment. He nodded a small smile playing on his lips. 

“Are you  _ trying  _ to be a witch from a fairytale or is that just your natural state of being?” He asked sarcastically.

“Witches from fairy tales do not summon demons,” she pointed out with a wry smile.

“Most assuredly, but I do believe singing to floating laundry and unabashed whimsy make you a perfect candidate for children’s stories.” She huffed a laugh and smiled as she continued her work scrubbing at a dirty shift. 

“Perhaps, but you would have to change into an animal companion or fairy prince, not a crotchety darkling. Wouldn’t want to scare the children,” he laughed at that, a real and full laugh. It surprised him. When he looked back at her she was smiling a big toothy grin, clearly proud of her feat. 

“How was your night? Go anywhere interesting?” She asked as she continued her vigorous scrubbing. Water sloshed from the basin but before it reached the floor it was sucked back up without so much as a finger twitch from Rose. 

“I went nowhere of note,” he replied as he helped himself to a loaf of raisin bread that sat on the table. He sat down and scooped some butter onto his slice of bread. He groaned in delight as he took a hearty mouthful. 

“You sure do love to eat,” Rose observed with a chuckle. 

“You would too if you went centuries without the joy of it.” She nodded thoughtfully as she rang out the last piece of laundry and sent it out with the rest. Drying her hands on her apron she walked over to the table and sat across from him. 

“I have no grand plans for today so I figured I would show you how to hunt for wild herbs.” 

“Am I to be your truffle pig?” He asked, brow raised in question. 

“No, no, not nearly as useful as a pig,” she replied. He huffed, trying his best not to show how his lips lifted into a smile. 

“I suppose I could help you in your endeavours, as it is my sole purpose for being here.”

“How very generous of you,” she replied as she grabbed her boots that sat by the door.

She picked up her basket and sheers and beckoned him to follow her. Millicent jumped up as soon as they made their way out the door darting between their legs, eager to follow. 

Rose led Hux down a narrow path that led them deeper into the forest. The trees grew denser and the light of the sun became fainter as the canopy of trees merged together. It was both eerie and beautiful, as the light fell dappled to the ground. 

Though each tree seemed no different from the last, Rose walked with the confidence of a woman who knew exactly where she was headed. Every so often she would pause and peer at the roots of a tree or in the hollow of a fallen log. They stopped in front of a mossy log so she could peel the lichen from it. 

“Moss like this is good for wounds, and bleeding of any kind,” she instructed as her nimble fingers pulled the moss free in one smooth sheet. 

Hux squatted down and began to try to remove the moss as elegantly as she did but it pulled away in chunks. He dropped the clumps of moss into her basket with a frown. 

“It will become easier with practice,” she said kindly. He grunted in reply.

The day was spent like that, Rose collecting supplies with practiced ease and Hux bumbling along behind her. He tripped over roots and crushed herbs under his unskilled hands and all the while Rose sat back with a patient smile and kind words. He grew sour as the day went on, frustrated with his lack of skill. If she simply asked him to use his magic he would not be so embarrassed but she seemed to not wish to. Her only present desire was to have a helper, a companion. 

By late afternoon Rose had begun to slow, growing tired and hot. Sweat dotted her brow and Hux noticed that the curls at the back of her neck had grown damp. She paused for a moment resting on a log and using her apron to wipe her face. 

“Hux, you may return to the cabin if you wish. I will go down to the river and have a bath,” she said gesturing to the west where Hux assumed the river sat. 

“I will go with you, who knows what may be lurking in this god forsaken forest,” Hux replied with a huff and a frown. Rose shrugged and stood dusting off her hands.

“If it pleases you. But I request some privacy as I bathe,” her words were steady but a blush betrayed her embarrassment. 

“My back will be to you, you have my word as a gentleman,” he said. 

“A gentleman and a demon, who knew I would be so lucky,” she said with a smirk and led him to the river in the forest. 


	5. Lavender

It was not a roaring river, it was more akin to something between a stream and an actual river. The water was always cool and refreshing, clear as glass. Rose had bathed in that river countless times. Paige and her had played amongst the fish and skipped rocks across its surface. Never had she found the river to be daunting until this moment as she stood beside the riverbank with Hux. 

He had nealt down washing his hands in the water. His long pale finger looked even paler against the dark rocks on the river bed. For a moment she wondered what it would feel like to have his cold wet finger touch hers. Would she like it or would they make her shiver? The thought shocked her and made her feel uneasy so she pushed it aside trying to forget that it had ever entered her mind. Perhaps she had been lonelier than she thought. 

She sat down on a large rock on the shore and untied her boots pulling them off her aching feet and placing them beside her. She began to ruck up her skirt reaching for the garters that secured her stockings. She heard a low grunt and looked up to see Hux turning around, arms crossing over his chest. 

“You could have warned me,” he called over his shoulder. 

She giggled both at his sour attitude and at the sudden nervousness that had settled over her. She quickly removed the rest of her clothes except for her shift to at least preserve some of her modesty. 

She dipped her toes into the cold river first letting her magic flow through them lightly heating up the water around her. She slowly entered letting the water seep into her skin and shift, washing away the dirt and sweat on her skin. She submerged herself when the water reached her chest letting her hair fan out around her. She stayed under as long as she could only surfacing when her need for air burned her lungs. When her head popped out of the water she saw Hux had perched himself on the rock next to her boots facing away from the river. 

“Hux!” She called and she saw his head move as if to turn to face her but he caught himself before he did.

“Yes?” He shouted over his shoulder. 

“I forgot soap, do you think you could magic me up some?” Rose could do it but she wanted to help him feel useful; he seemed a little put out by his lack of foraging skills. 

He waved his hand distractedly over his shoulder and a bar of soap appeared in her hand. She lifted the cream colored bar to her nose. It smelled of lavender and something warm and sweet, perhaps honey. She wondered if he had chosen a scent that he thought she would like or one that he preferred. She rubbed the bar on her skin, focusing her efforts on her hair and underarms. The soap was smooth and silky unlike the lye based one she used. Rose decided she would have him conjure up her soap from now on. 

As she scrubbed she began to sing an old river [song](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=a4QQ7HYYdWw). She remembered Paige telling her it was some ancient tune, older than the rocks that lined the shore of their own little river. The melody twisted and bent like water around logs and stone. It was beautiful but to Rose it always sounded a little mournful. 

The song was meant for harmonies and though it sounded lovely as it bounced across the surface of the water it sounded lonely. She sang as she scrubbed at her hair. As she fell into the next verse she heard a voice join hers. Warm and masculine, Hux’s voice harmonized with hers even allowing for her stuttering at the shock of hearing him sing. They sang the rest of the song together, her standing in the river scrubbing her hair and Hux sitting on the rock in the sunshine. When they finished she turned to Hux and saw his shoulders rise in a deep sigh. 

“How do you know that song?” She asked as she made her way to the bank. He stood moving away from her toward the copse of the trees. 

“It’s an old song,” he said stiffly. 

“You have a nice voice, did you sing much in your past life?” She dried her shift with the snap of her fingers and began the process of rolling on her stockings. 

“Not much,” his tone was final and she decided not to pry any further. Perhaps he would tell her another time. She stood pulling her dress over her head followed by her embroidered kirtle. She stretched to grab the ends of the laces at the back and sighed when she missed. 

“Hux? Would come here a moment?” He turned around hesitantly as if he were afraid of what he might see. He looked relieved when he saw she was dressed and made his way over to her.

“Could you lace me up?” Rose asked, gesturing to the back of her kirtle. His wary expression returned but he did as she asked, stepping behind her and wrapping the laces around his long fingers. She felt his breath on the back of her neck and tried not to shiver at the sensation. Having him so close made the thought of his fingers on her skin return. What would it be like to feel his fingers brush away the hair on the back of her neck?

“Is it tight enough?” He asked as he pulled on the laces. She squeaked out a _yes_ and he tied the laces together tucking them into kirtle when he had finished. 

“It is getting dark, we should return home,” Rose announced as she pulled on her boots. 

“I’ll get us back,” Hux replied and with a snap of his fingers they were back at her front door facing the garden he had created. 

The rest of the day was quiet. Neither Rose nor Hux spoke much. Rose busied herself with preparing an evening meal while Hux sat with his thoughts, flipping through Rose’s spell book without reading a word.

He was not sure why he had gone to the river with Rose. In truth he had not needed to. She was perfectly safe and capable and he was sure she would not have run into any trouble. But he wanted to follow her and for the life of him, Hux could not figure out why. 

He had sat on that rock confused by his own actions. When she had begun to ruck up her skirt to slide her stockings down her legs his heart had practically leapt into his throat. He felt like a child who had been caught stealing fruit from the larder. The vision of her, face flush bent forward as she pulled up the green skirt to reveal the dark grey of her knitted stockings, was something that would be burned in his mind for much longer than he wanted to admit.

But nothing could compare to the moment she began to sing. Just as his heart had slowed from the sight of her undressing she had begun to sing that damned song. Deep inside his mind that song sat, hidden by his determination to let those memories fade and yet her smooth voice brought it careening back.

Lost in the sound he had turned to see her. She was in the river, her eyes closed as she sang and scrubbed at her hair. She still wore her shift, he supposed for modesty’s sake, and yet the way it clung to her belittled that intention. He turned quickly, closing his eyes trying to erase the image of her in such a state but the vision intertwined with the other making his blood heat. He tried to steady his breathing and focused on her voice and the sound of the moving water. 

His voice rose with hers, unbidden. The song came back to him so quickly it shocked him. It had been so very long since he had sung any song let alone this one. In the past he knew he had, that he might have even delighted in it, but centuries had passed since he had done so. Only two days in Rose’s presence and he had broken that streak. 

He heard her voice catch in surprise when he joined her but she quickly picked up the thread. Their voices harmonized and danced over the surface of the river. It was strangely peaceful to sit by the river and sing just for the joy of it. He looked out into the forest and saw the way the light filtered through the trees. Way back in the forest he watched two deer slowly pick their way through the roots of the trees searching for foliage to nibble on. 

When the song ended and she made her way to the riverbank, Hux believed his torture would be over. She spoke to him of the song, asking how he knew it. His reply was vague, he had no desire to reveal anything of his past to Rose. She thankfully accepted his answer without pressing further and continued about her business. 

His thoughts swirled about his head never finding purchase. Images of her in the river, the melody of that song flitting through his mind in a voice that was neither his nor Rose’s, a creeping fear that memories of his past would dislodge themselves and come rushing forward and he would be lost in a wave of them. He picked at the skin around his fingers wondering if he would bleed. Nothing rushed forth as he dug into them, feeling no pain, his hands remained unmarried by his discomfort and yet his soul floated inside him in torment of temptation.

Her call surprised him out of his thoughts and he turned slowly afraid that he would see her unbound again and he would not be able to tamp down his growing passions. He had no fear of his actions but his emotions were new and terrifying. They were not something he was equipped to deal with. 

Gratefully she was clothed, her dress and kirtle hiding her body from view. He walked toward her and as he approached he saw that her kirtle sagged, the laces had not been tightened and he distantly heard her ask for assistance. He could not be so sure as the blood was rushing in his ears.

Hux approached the back of her unlaced kirtle like one would approach a snake. His hands shook slightly as he wrapped the laces around his fingers and began to pull gently. He tried to focus on the way the laces pulled through the eyelets instead of the curls at the back of her neck or how easy it would be to press his lips to the knot of her spine. 

“Is it tight enough?” He hoped that his voice did not sound strained. He barely heard her reply but saw her head nod in assent and he backed away quickly, eager to distance himself from her person. 

And so it went on like that for the rest of the day and well into the evening. Hux avoided Rose like the plague. When she asked him to snip some herbs from the garden for their supper he was more than happy to flee from the cramped cottage into the front yard. As she prepared dinner he studiously sat as far from her as possible and tried desperately to keep his eyes focused on the book of spells instead of the way her body moved about.

When had he turned into a passion filled young man, again? For centuries he had not thought such improper thoughts. He had kept all his wanton passions focused on delicious meals and occasional drunkenness and had declined carnal pleasures for the most part. There was that one witch early on in his life as a demon who had summoned him for the specific purpose of carnal pleasure but he did not consider it an active choice on his part though he did look back on the memory with some fondness. The woman had been rather...creative in her pursuits. 

The last time he had a relationship of that nature, one of his own choosing, had been several summonings past. He had been called by a wealthy lord who wanted to be king. The man was horrible and Hux found his desires rote and tiresome but did as he was asked.

Hux had not expected any form of relationship while he languished in the lord’s dusty old castle but he had found his secretary to be rather interesting. He knew who Hux was and at first seemed skittish, afraid of the power he wielded. But slowly he had warmed to him, even conversing with him much like Rose did now, though his barbs were softer and his jokes more veiled. 

Hux’s attraction to the young secretary snuck up on him. He had not really paid the secretary much mind besides the odd conversation here and there, never took time to admire his soft handsomeness or the way his smile transformed his face. He did not notice the way the man blushed when he spoke to him or how his body angled toward him almost unconsciously. 

Their affair had been brief. A few furtive kisses and only a handful of nights together but it had been nice. Hux had forgotten how human touch could be soft, could be kind. It had been pleasant to do something solely for the purpose of his own pleasure and not for someone else. It had felt so very good to be held just for those moments. Though the pleasure had been more than agreeable it was the intimacy that had felt so different and so very good. 

Perhaps his feelings towards Rose were only residual feelings from that long ago affair. There were similarities to Rose and the secretary. Their kindness and compassion, the way they teased him, even the softness of their features rang similar in Hux’s mind. And perhaps it was the fear he felt both now and then that made these moments feel so familiar. 

No matter the reason for his attraction to Rose he knew he had to deny it. There was no chance for his feelings to be returned. Rose was far too good for him, far too kind, far too beautiful, and much too talented. She barely needed his help as is, she certainly did not need his amorous attention. Though, as strange as it was, she did not seem to dislike his company, in fact she seemed to enjoy it. But her actions and words were friendly and teasing not flirtatious. Those moments by the river were born of necessity not of a desire for his touch or his attention. 

A scratching at the front door shook Hux from his reverie. He looked to Rose who seemed not to hear the noise, her focus concentrated on the stew that was bubbling over the fire. He rose from his seat to open the door to a triumphant Millicent dragging a large hare in her small jaws. Hux could not help the shout of surprise that escaped him at the sight of the bloodied hare being dragged across the floor of the cottage.

Rose turned at the sound running over to see what the fuss was about only to laugh in delight at the sight of the cat and her catch.

“Good girl, Millicent! You are a very mighty huntress!” She cooed as she scratched behind the cat's ears. Millicent dropped her catch and bumped her head against Rose’s outstretched hand to receive her mistress’s praise. To Hux’s great horror blood stained the cat’s whiskers and puncture wounds graced the neck of the now deceased hare who lay, eyes open on the floor. 

“Are you unaccustomed to seeing the fruits of a successful hunt?” Rose asked with a small smile on her lips as she reached to gather the hare from the ground. Hux looked up at her and saw blood on her fingertips.

“I am merely surprised a creature so small and sweet does such dirty work,” he attempted to seem aloof and unruffled but could not deny how he reacted. 

“We small and sweet creatures are capable of a great many things,” Rose said as she returned to the stew, she left the hare on the counter. Millicent sat on the floor beside the hare and began to meow in displeasure. 

“She wants her reward,” Rose observed as she continued to stir the stew.

“What is that?” Hux asked as he crossed the room to lift Millicent who ceased her cries as he lifted her into his arms.

“The heart,” Rose replied, still stirring the stew, her eyes trained on her task. Her cheeks were pink from the heat of the fire, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows to reveal the soft skin of her arms.

“I will see to the hare when I am done and she can have her reward then,” Rose dropped more spices into the stew taking a taste off her wooden spoon afterward, testing the flavor on her tongue. 

“I’ll clean it,” Hux said as he dropped Millicent to the floor. She continued her meowing as he dipped his hands in the water basin, preparing them. He rolled up his sleeves and took the knife from its sheath. He held the ears of the fallen hare, pulling it taught before running the blade along its belly. He cleaned the poor creature, saving the heart for the insistent cat at his feet. 

It was a bloody affair and Hux’s hands were stained by the time he was done. The sight of it in his hands felt strange. Though he was responsible for much death in his time he never saw blood upon his hands. There was never any evidence of the deeds he had done, lines could not be directly drawn to him but there was no doubt that he had been responsible for much destruction. 

Distantly he heard Rose call his name. He looked up to see bowls of stew in her hand, steam coming off them. He nodded and walked back to the basin putting his hands in the water watching as red ribbons of blood mixed with the clear water making it cloudy.


	6. Thistle

That night while Rose slept, Hux returned to the castle of that long dead lord. It was inhabited by a new lord, one marginally kinder than the one Hux knew. This new lord had no designs to be king, legends of a long ago ruler who had such designs and found his head on a spike, murdered by his own people, made men wary of such action now.

No statue or painting stood to remember that old lord, all of them had been burned and toppled. He remained a legend, a warning, to all men who sought power through such ruthless means. Though he was long gone and long forgotten the castle remained unchanged. Sure the hangings on the walls were different and the people inside were generations removed but the stones were the same. 

He walked through the castle, unseen. His steps did not ring out through the halls, he was like a ghost floating through each room seeing if he might find another. But this castle was not haunted by spirits, it was fully inhabited by the living who slept soundly and without the knowledge that Hux watched them as they did so. Or how he sat in one room in particular watching as an old man slept in the bed he had shared with another so long ago. 

Hux grew tired of haunting and made his way to the cellar. The larder was full and filled with delicacies befitting a castle this size. He chose some cheese and bread and dug around for a good bottle of wine. He sat himself at the kitchen table and ate and drank his fill waiting for dawn to crack over the horizon. 

****

Rose was up before dawn. She cast a small illumination spell to light her way as she began her daily chores. Her cleaning took on the frantic and maticulice air of a person expecting guests. She cleaned and organized the shelves, rearranged their contents to make them more aesthetically pleasing. Each surface area was scrubbed of grime and dirt and the floor was swept of any debris. Her bed was made immaculately the sheets and blankets pulled taut. 

All while she frantically cleaned her mind wandered to thoughts of Hux. He had been strange after the river, quiet and contemplative. He was prone to bouts of silence but the silence between them had never been so loud. She could feel his thoughts floating about the room though she did not know them. It felt like the air before a rainstorm, thick and oppressive. She wondered where his mind traveled. Was he thinking of his past deeds? Was he thinking of her? 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a clap of noise. She looked up to see Hux had returned. He was uncharacteristically rumpled, his hair a riot and his clothes wrinkled. When he stepped forward his footing was unsure and he stumbled a bit. Rose rushed forward fearful that his magic had been too much for him. She knew how using such power could be draining on a person. But as she held him she could smell the wine on his breath and knew the source of his clumsiness.

“How did you get yourself in such a state,” she grumbled as she angled his overly large body toward her bed. 

He looked down at her, his chin comically resting on his chest as he attempted to focus on her face. She stared up into his green eyes, watching as they flitted across her face and his brows drew together in a frown. He brought the hand that was not currently flung around her shoulders up to her face. Rose held her breath as his long fingers rested on her cheek, his thumb sweeping over her cheekbone. Her heart stopped as she looked up at him, frozen by the softness of his skin against hers. 

“You have freckles on your nose,” he observed, his eyes flicking from her eyes to her nose, his thumb leaving her cheek and sweeping across the bridge of the aforementioned appendage.

“I do,” Rose replied breathlessly. She cursed her reaction. She leaned into his touch like Millicent would when given a good scratch. Her lips parted involuntarily as if awaiting something. _His lips on mine_ , a traitorous voice whispered somewhere in the back of her mind. 

Hux remained transfixed by her freckles before he seemed to catch himself, straightening a bit and attempting to disengage from her. He was unsuccessful, stumbling again. 

“Alright, that’s enough thoughtful contemplation for you, to bed you go,” he made a noise that sounded like a _harumph_ and let her lead him to her freshly made bed. 

“I can’t sleep,” he whined, not unlike a child. She couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her. 

“At least rest your eyes until the room stops spinning,” she took a spare blanket from the basket by her bed and tucked it around him. She unclipped the clasp of his cloak from around his neck and maneuvered it out from under him. She grabbed a glass of water and brought it over to him. 

“Drink this,” she commanded as she attempted to go back to her chores. 

“You need to sober up in the next hour, the villagers are coming this afternoon. It would not do for a drunk demon to greet them,” he grumbled as he took a sip from the glass of water. 

“It will wear off soon enough,” placed the glass on the floor beside him and settled into the bed closing his eyes. 

“Sing to me,” he demanded. She laughed.

“Who serves who here?”

“It was a request.”

“Sure didn’t sound like one.” He cracked an eye open and looked at her for a long moment. He sighed and closed his eyes again.

“Would you sing to me, _please?_ ” Rose laughed again and saw his lips twitch into a small smile. 

“Alright, since you asked so nicely,” she replied.

Rose chose a [song](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=qcT2Vm-ky0g) her dear friend Kaydel had taught her. A sad little love song Rose always found rather beautiful. It was a poetic tune and soothing, one she hoped would lull a drunken demon into some semblance of sobriety. As she sang she continued her work, glancing at Hux whose eyes remained closed, his stance relaxed. Though he was not asleep, he looked rested, his face devoid of tension. When her song finished he cracked his eyes open.

“Would you sing it again?” He asked, voice soft and pleading. She laughed at him though she felt herself blush at the tone of his voice. 

“Alright, but only once more.” And the morning went on with Rose singing and working and Hux listening to her voice. If Rose was the fanciful sort she could pretend for a moment that each day would pass like this, and that Hux and her would have sweetness like this between them, always. But she was not a fanciful girl, she was a level headed witch, so she pushed those thoughts away for it did not do her any good to live in such a fantasy. 

He was not a regular man and she was not a regular woman. Though time did not pass the same way for witches as it did mortals she would still grow old in front of his eyes and he would remain unchanged. And who knew if he would be around long enough to see her grow old. He could be called back to Hell at any moment. And though his nature was quarrelsome but sweet, he was still a demon capable of much evil if he saw fit to do so. This good natured companionship between them rested on a knife’s edge. Rose could not forget that. 

After resting for most of the morning Hux rose from the bed, folding the blanket and placing it back in the basket. He looked down at his attire and frowned. With a small gesture he smoothed out his clothes making them appear as immaculate as if they were new. 

Rose was amused by his fastidiousness. He was perpetually smoothing his hair into place or adjusting his clothing. He rarely went without his cloak no matter how hot it was or how inconvenient it may be. He seemed very attached to his image as an imposing figure. She hoped he would leave the cloak off while the villagers were there. He was going to be hard enough to explain without it.

“What should I tell the villagers when they come?” She asked as she took the sweet rolls from the oven. He ran his hand through his hair, destroying the work he had done earlier to keep it in place.

“What would you like to tell them?” He asked. 

“Perhaps I could introduce you as a visiting wizard? It would explain your presence and perhaps make them feel easier around you,” she suggested with a shrug. He nodded thoughtfully, scratching at the back of his head. 

“I suppose that will do.” He sat down at the table taking one of the fresh sweet rolls from the basket she had transferred them to and took a bite. He moaned in pleasure as he chewed. The sound made Rose blush.

“I have seen you cast many a spell since I arrived here, Miss Tico, but none have compared to the magic of these sweet rolls,” Rose let out a hearty laugh at his declaration. 

“I’m glad you like them,” she said with a smile. She put one more on a plate and set it in front of him before taking the basket off the table. She had seen the way he ate. If she did not take the basket away now they would be gone in a matter of moments. He tore into the second one with gusto, leaning back in the chair and watching her bustle about. 

Distantly Rose heard voices as they made their way through the forest. Shouts of children and chatter of adults floated through the air. She rushed to remove her apron and cast a small spell to tidy her hair and clothes. Rose glanced at Hux who had finished eating and was now scratching Millicent’s head as she lay on the window sill. He peered out the window observing the parade of villagers as they made their way toward Rose’s little cottage.

“Here comes the rabble,” he drawled. She lightly smacked his arm in reprimand. She missed the smile on his lips at the gesture. 

“Those villagers sustain me and I them. You need to be more respectful,” she said as she checked her hair in the little mirror over her basin, smoothing away the flyaways. She darted toward the door taking a deep breath before she opened it. 


	7. Anise

Poe Dameron led the pack as usual. He sauntered ahead all swagger and confidence. On another man it would have been off putting, confidence misread as cockiness, but Poe was all kindness and joyful self assuredness. He grinned widely when he saw Rose and she waved at him excitedly in return. She had missed him desperately while he had been away on a hunt. It had been far too long since he had visited her and she grew sad and lonely in his absence. He embraced her, swinging her around in a bone crushing hug. The knowledge that he missed her as well filled her heart to the brim.

“It is good to see you, old friend,” he said as he placed her firmly on the ground.

“And you,” she replied with a radiant smile. The rest of the villagers trailed behind him. Rose spotted Finn over his shoulder. He waved excitedly embracing her with the same vigor as Poe though it had not been more than a fortnight since his last visit. Finn’s smile was all sweetness and warmth as he greeted her. Rose was always made breathless by the love of her friends. 

“You look well, Rose,” Finn said as he studied her face as if searching for any sign of discontent. She wiggled away from his hands, blushing slightly at the contact and scrutiny.

Behind her, Rose heard Hux clear his throat. She turned to see him, his eyes narrowed at Poe and Finn, assessing them. 

“And who is this friendly fellow?” Poe asked, sarcasm dripping off of every word. Rose turned to him a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Don’t be rude, Poe. Hux, here, is a guest of mine.” Poe had the fortitude to look a bit ashamed at his behavior. It was helped by Finn’s reproachful glare.

“Pleased to meet you, Hux,” Finn said as he stuck his hand out for Hux to shake attempting to imbue the action with the friendliness Poe had lacked. Hux stared down at his hand for a moment before taking it and shaking it. 

“A pleasure, I’m sure.” 

“Hux, this is my dear friend Finn. And this rude fool over here is Poe.” Hux nodded towards both. Finn grinned widely and Poe gave a small wary smile.

“So what brings you to our little wood, Hux?” Poe asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“He’s just visiting for a bit. He’s a wizard from...um…” Rose turned to Hux eyes large waiting for him to fill in the blank.

“Arkanis.” Hux supplied quickly. Rose looked up to him, brow raising. The quickness of his reply made her think it may be close to the truth. 

“Long way to travel,” Poe replied, eyes still narrowed in suspicion. Hux did not falter under this silent inquisition. He stood tall, arms crossed and face impassive, trying his best to halt any suspicion and further questioning. 

Villagers filed in around them momentarily distracting from the interrogation Hux was under.One by one the villagers greeted Rose with a hug or handshake. Some asked for blessings while others simply brought thanks for spells and cures she had conjured for them in the past. They brought her various tributes, mostly food, but the tailor gave her a particularly fine bolt of blue cloth and the blacksmith a new pot.

Hux stood by watching as men, women and children gathered around Rose, greeting her with warmth. She seemed so at home among them, her smile broad and radiant. She practically glowed under their attention, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining. She looked rather beautiful. 

Finn cleared his throat beside Hux commanding his attention away from Rose.

“Why are you  _ really  _ here?” Hux blanched at the question. He turned to the man beside him, taking in Finn’s raised brow and piercing gaze. Though Hux had found him rather friendly upon first meeting he quickly amended his initial assessment; Finn was friendly but shrewd.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand the question,” Hux replied coolly, attempting to deflect.

“Come now, Hux, I think you heard the man?” Poe said as he moved closer, crowding in on Hux. 

“I am a visiting wizard, as Rose said.” Hux replied smoothly.

“She did say that, didn’t she Finn?”

“She did indeed, but she didn’t seem so sure about it. Rose is a terribly bad liar,” both men had moved in closer. The heat of their mortal bodies felt oppressive to Hux. 

“She tells the truth,” Hux supplied but his voice wavered. Their proximity made him uncomfortable as did their pointed questioning.

“Come now, Hux, we know she’s lying and I know you're lying. What are you really doing here? Who are you, really?” Finn moved in closer, his head tilted in question. Hux felt panic rise. He was not worried for his sake but rather Rose’s. To invite a demon into one’s home was considered sacrilege in many parts of the world and a witch’s life was always tenuous. No matter how much the villagers seemed to admire her, she was still a powerful woman, no man could tame her. An unbound woman made weak men weaker and they struck out like a cornered rat when those weaknesses showed. If these villagers found out who he truly was it could spell doom for his little witch. Visions of burning pyres and hangman's nooses lay before him, reminding him of the risk he truly was to her. These were fates he would wish to help her avoid.

“I’m… I am a visiting wizard as she says but I am also her… well I’m here as her…” he fought to find the right words to explain his presence. Poe had drifted even closer and seemed ready to jump into action.

“We are betrothed, as it were,” Hux finally spat out. Immediately he kicked himself.  _ Betrothed! What the hell was wrong with him? _

But that seemed to be the answer Finn and Poe were looking for, as they both broke out in laughter. Poe clapped Hux on the back sending him sputtering.

“I knew it! The way you look at her, it’s written all over your face!” Poe said with a wide grin. Hux just stared at him bewildered. Finn had a matching grin, his warm eyes sparkled with joy at Hux’s pronouncement. 

“Sorry for scaring you, Hux. We knew we couldn’t get anything out of Rose. You were too easy of a target,” Finn explained. Hux merely nodded, still too shocked by the turn of events.

“Welcome to the family,” Poe nearly shouted as he pulled Hux in a hug. Hux returned the gesture weakly. Over Poe’s shoulder he saw Rose looking on in question with a warm but confused smile on her face. Hux disengaged from Poe’s friendly gesture, face growing serious.

“Thank you, but I must ask you not to tell Rose I shared this with you. She was adamant that I keep it a secret and she would be rather cross with me if I spoiled the surprise.” 

“Of course! She probably wanted to be the one to tell us. She’s sentimental like that,” Finn smiled beatifically at Hux who gave him a weak turn of the lips in response. His stomach was in knots.  _ What in God’s name had he done? _

“How did you two meet?” Poe asked.

“At a witches’ council,” Hux supplied. He had not a clue if there was such a thing but hoped that Finn and Poe were not well versed in the ways of magic. They seemed to take the information at face value and simply nodded along.

“Do witches and wizards often get betrothed at these councils?” Finn asked.

“Fairly regularly,” Hux replied smoothly. He was surprised with how easy the lies were coming now. 

“Interesting. What made you choose our Rose?” Finn asked. Hux’s brow furrowed into a frown. What kind of question was that?

“Why wouldn’t I choose her?” Poe laughed, a warm smile spreading across his handsome face.

“Good answer, buddy,” he said as he clapped Hux on the shoulder. 

Rose stood and watched as Hux interacted with Poe and Finn. He seemed uncomfortable and awkward, a strange demeanor for a demon. She often felt uncomfortable in crowds, awkward and unsure around large groups of people. She had always hoped that awkwardness would fade with age and experience. She hoped maturity would lead to ease and self assuredness. Hux was an ancient being, older than some of the trees in the old forest and yet in this moment he was as shaky as a newborn calf, his knobby legs barely able to sustain him. 

She wondered what they spoke of. Poe and Finn were grinning widely at Hux, their eyes shining as they spoke. By the expression on their faces they seemed to like him or at least liked the turn of the conversation. She wanted to go over there, to hear what they spoke of, to check in on the flailing Hux but villagers kept coming up to her offering gifts and asking for blessings. Her dear friend Kaydel waddled over her hand over her large belly. She beamed at Rose, her face flushed in the sunlight and from the long walk from the village.

“Kaydel, my dear, you should have stayed home!” Rose said as she rushed toward her, her arm flying out to wrap around Kaydel’s shoulder. 

“Oh hush, and miss seeing my beautiful friend? Out of the question,” she sighed as she leaned into Rose for support.

“I can’t believe Beaumont let you come.” Rose said with the shake of the head. 

“He does not tell me what to do,” Kaydel grumbled as she sat on a log. 

“No one tells you what to do.” Kaydel grinned at that, looking up at Rose, her hand coming up to shield her eyes from the sun.

“You look different, Rosie.” 

“How so?”

“You seem brighter, lighter even, than I have seen you in awhile,” Kaydel said as she rubbed at her soar feet. Rose remained silent, she wasn’t sure what to say.

“Have anything to do with tall, dark, and ginger over there?” Kaydel asked with a quirk if her brow. Rose blushed and shook her head.

“Hux is just visiting. He’s a very skilled wizard from Arkanis. He’s just come to help with village business, check on the health of the forest, witch-y things.”

Kaydel stared at her for a long moment, her large brown eyes searching. Rose felt her cheeks redden further, the tips of her ears turning hot. Kaydel was a normal mortal woman for all Rose knew but at times she wondered if she had some form of clairvoyance. Her ability to read other people was astonishing. In front of Kaydel, Rose felt like an open book. Sometimes she wondered if Kaydel knew things that Rose was not privy to. 

“Well whatever is happening here, it has been good for you.” Kaydel replied with a sigh. She made to stand and Rose ran over to steady her. The belly made her ungainly and she teetered for a moment before she was able to stand firmly on her own two feet. 

“It is good that your wizard friend is here, you will need all the help you can get.” Rose looked at Kaydel with brows furrowed, her lip dipped into a confused frown. 

“What do you mean?”

“Leia will explain. There is something  _ off _ in the village, the edges of the forest as well.” Rose felt a flutter of anxiety at her words. 

Just then a murmur fell over the crowd of villagers as their lady approached. Lady Leia walked slowly toward Rose, an ornate cane in hand. Rose always thought Leia was a beautiful woman. Her long grey hair always perfectly plaited around her head, her clothing simple but elegant, her eyes sparkled with her wit and intelligence. She made her way over to Rose, the sea of villagers parted for her without a word. 

“Rose, my darling, it is good to see you,” Leia said as she approached, arms outstretched inviting the witch in for a quick embrace. She rushed forward burying herself in Leia’s arms. Leia chuckled at her exuberance as she wrapped her arms around the girl.

“It has been too long,” Leia said as she stroked Rose’s hair.

“Far too long, Leia. You have no idea how it pleases me to see my tinctures worked. I prayed for you every night.” Rose looked up at the older woman, tears sparkling in her eyes.

“Oh Rosie dear, there is no need to fret. I am alive and well thanks to you,” Rose grinned and pulled away to see the whole village watching.

“Oh stop your gawking! There is business to be done.” Rose rushed inside to get a chair for Leia so she may sit as they conducted business. She sat on her makeshift throne whispering her thanks to Rose. Slowly the village gathered around so that they may hold a mock court in Rose’s front yard.

“Rose my dear, you have done an excellent job thus far of maintaining our lovely little village. We are all happy and healthy thanks to you. You have done admirably, especially since your sister's passing. Much was put on your shoulders and you have borne it with grace,” Rose gave a watery smile at Leia’s compliments. 

“But I fear there is something amiss in the wood.” Rose’s heart constricted at her words. The flutter of anxiety that had started with Kaydel’s words roared to life consuming her and making her vision blur. 

“What do you mean, Leia?”

“Our crops have failed, Rose. They refuse to grow.” Finn replied, his face turning from friendly ease to anguished worry. Rose looked around to the other villagers and noticed now that their faces had grown thinner and worry creased their brows. How did she not know?

“The wood, it did not tell me of this,” Rose worried her hands, she noticed that they had grown clammy. She felt her lungs tighten as anxiety crept along her skin. She knew the wood well, it was her job to know, she was born to feel it inside her. Every change was one she felt in her soul, in the blood that beat through her and yet she was blind to this change. It was as if her very heart had conspired against her, turning cruel and malevolent without her knowledge. 

“Do you not hear it, Rose?” Leia asked, worry creasing her face. 

“No, my lady. Nothing is amiss. I feel it beating as it should.” Rose told the truth. She felt the heart of the forest beat beneath her own as if it were a child in her womb. She turned away from Leia then, closing her eyes and attempting to reach out to that feeling, to grasp at the tendrils of magic that danced inside of her. But all felt as it should. The forest reached out lovingly, seemingly pleased with how Rose tended to it. She heard only birdsong and the rustle of leaves, no cracking branches nor the cries of a wounded deer. 

“Strange,” was Leia’s terse reply. She beckoned Rose closer, reaching for her hand. Rose gave it to her and welcomed her reassuring squeeze. 

“We will see this through, Rose. But I’m afraid the village needs your help. You need to revive the crops, by whatever means.” Rose nodded, swallowing thickly as her mind reeled. 

“She will do no such thing!” Hux shouted. Rose turned to see him approaching, face twisted in fury. 

“And who are you?” Leia asked, brows furrowed. 

“Never mind who I am! What you ask of Rose is too much.” He towered over the seated Leia, glowering down at the woman. 

“I know it is a lot to ask but it is needed for the-“

“The kind of magic needed to revive fields of your size would drain a witch of Rose’s power. Powerful though she is, it would kill her,” Hux interrupted Leia. The crowd gasped at his rudeness. No one interrupted their beloved lady. But Hux did not react to their discomfort, fury clouded any sense of decorum and politeness that lay dormant inside him. His breath came out harsh and fast as if he had run a long distance. His green eyes shone brightly in his state of anger. Rose was too shocked to do anything, the events of the last few moments taking her breath away. 

“Can you not help her? You are a great wizard, are you not?” Kaydel asked from the crowd of villagers. Hux whirled around to identify the woman who had questioned him. Kaydel stood, hand on hips, glaring defiantly at Hux.

“I am indeed, but I can only do so much,” he looked to Rose who had only just come back to herself. She walked toward Hux moving closely so she could speak to him with as much privacy as the moment allowed. 

“If I command you to help with the village, can you raise the crops?” She looked up at him, her eyes wet with unshed tears. These revelations had shaken her to her core. She felt lost, like a bird who fell from its nest. 

“I can but I need the right circumstance. A garden is one thing, whole fields are another.” She nodded.

“Hux will help me but we need time,” a murmur of relief fell over the crowd. 

“What do you need?” Leia asked. 

“Rain, a great storm if possible.” Hux replied. He had regained his composure, his complexion returned to its milky paleness and his breath came even. All the emotions that had rushed to the surface were pulled in. 

“Then with the next storm you shall help our Rose revive our fields,” Leia said as she stood. She gestured for the crowd to disperse. The villagers began to file out of Rose’s yard and toward the path that led out of the wood. 

“I never received an introduction, Sir Wizard,” Leia said as she examined Hux, her eyes traveling up and down him in open assessment.

“This is the wizard Hux from Arkanis,” Rose replied. “Hux, this is Lady Leia of Alderaan.” 

“A pleasure,” Hux grumbled. Rose elbowed him in the ribs glaring up at him. He bowed to Leia more in supplication to Rose’s will than to Lady Leia. 

“No, the pleasure is mine. It is good that we have such a skilled wizard in our midst. Particularly in our time of need.” Leia regarded Hux, a shrewdness pierced him as her eyes traveled from his face to the boots on his feet. 

“Your arrival is very  _ convenient _ ,” she said with a raised brow. 

“Indeed,” was his tight lipped reply. Leia smiled at him, patting his shoulder and drawing him close. 

“Be careful with her,” she whispered to him. He turned his head in time to see her wink with a small smile on her lip. And with that the Lady Leia made her exit leaving Hux and Rose bewildered and alone. 


	8. Juniper

Rose stood stock still, staring at the mouth of the path where Leia had exited. She felt Hux beside her, the warmth of his body radiating, but she did not acknowledge his presence. All her mind was focused on the intangible feeling inside her. She tried to grasp at her magic, at the tendrils of it that wound through her. She could feel her magic shiver and shake inside her, matching the tenor of her anxiety. Wind rustled through the trees of the forest in response, the small creatures of the wood burrowed into their homes hiding from the feel of it. 

Distantly she heard her name and felt a warm hand on her shoulder. She turned at the force of it, staring up at Hux. He spoke, she saw his lips move and even heard the sounds he made but they did not form into words in her mind. She felt almost as if she moved underwater, the world going slow and muffled only the sound of rushing water in her ears. 

It wasn’t until Hux reached out, putting a warm hand on her face, did she come back to herself. The feeling of his hand, soft and steady, finally roused her from her stupor. Again she heard the birds chirping, felt the grass beneath her feet and heard Hux’s voice loud and clear in her ears.

“Rose, are you alright?” His voice had gone soft and gentle, almost as if he were speaking to a lost child. She nodded and attempted to give a reassuring smile. By the look on Hux’s face she was unsuccessful. 

“Where did you go?” He asked. She did not answer, it seemed as if the question was not meant to be answered. 

“Something isn’t right, Hux.” She said as she turned away from him. She lifted her skirts as she walked briskly toward the mouth of the forest. She moved quickly avoiding all the roots and rocks in her path. She knew the wood well, each nook and cranny was etched into her mind making her steps sure and her pace swift. She heard Hux behind her, the sound of crunching leaves, snapping twigs, and the occasional oath as he tripped over a hidden root alerted her to his presence. 

They walked like this for a time until they reached the river. Rose stood at the edge for a moment as she listened to the water trickle by. She inhaled the scent of the rocks, the wet mud of the river bank, and the crisp green of the grass and leaves around her. It all felt as it should, harmonious and tranquil, nothing amiss. 

“Rose, what in the hell are you doing?” Hux called from behind her. He was panting, leaning over, his hands braced on his knees as he attempted to catch his breath. She noticed his face had gone flush and there was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. If it were another time that fact would have piqued her curiosity, in the time she had known him he had never shown such human weaknesses. But her mind was elsewhere and she could not focus on that particular peculiarity. 

Instead of answering him she turned swiftly, marching along the river, following its path. She stuck to its every twist and turn, not looking back to see if Hux was behind her. She felt her feet sink into mud, she heard the squeelch of it as she freed her boot without a care. Insects buzzed around her and she did not brush them away. She walked as if in a trance, not a care for the world around her, her mind focused only on her destination. 

Time slipped by her and before she knew it the sun had begun to fall in the sky. It barely peaked over the tops of the trees and it cast the world in an almost golden hue. Light filtered through the leaves of the trees making the surface of the river sparkle like jewels. It was a beautiful sight but one Rose did not register, too determined was she to reach the end of her journey.

The river had taken a final turn, a sharp curve east, its end hidden by trees and rocks. The bank of it ended at the curve, the only way around it was through a dense collection of large evergreens. Rose turned sharply towards them and heard Hux huffing behind her. She dodged the rocks and roots just as she did before, slipping through the branches like a ghost. The air shifted around them, from comfortable warmth to an otherworldly coolness. The denseness of the trees began to lift revealing spots of aqua blue. As they pushed through, Rose heard Hux’s soft gasp behind her.

Before them was a spring the color of aquamarine. In the fading light it sparkled, making its color even more beautiful. The trees around it were all manner of green and lush and the rocks were smooth and grey. It was like a fantasy, something out of a fairy tale. To Rose there was nothing in the world quite as beautiful. 

“What is this place?” Hux asked beside her. 

“The heart of the wood,” she replied as she walked toward the edge of the spring. Without a second glance she stepped in the water, boots and all. She did not shiver at the coldness nor did she cry out at the way it’s cold sharpness pierced her, she just kept moving through the water.

“Rose!” Hux shouted but she did not turn to look at him. She could hear splashing and then a string of oaths as Hux entered the cold water behind her. Instead of turning to him she dipped her head under the water, silencing all around her.

The spring did not make the same noise as the river. It was not the warbled sound of moving water but soft whispers in a language foreign to anyone but Rose. She listened, breath trapped in her lungs, as the spring told her of its contentment. In a soft and sweet song it thanked her for her work. All was as it should be and yet the earth did not yield for the villagers. She sank further down, straining to hear any sign of unhappiness or malfeasance but heard only words of love. 

Suddenly she felt arms underneath hers, violently yanking her up to the surface. She broke through, gasping for air facing Hux who sputtered, water turning his hair dark. 

“Rose! Are you trying to kill yourself?!” He asked, shaking her shoulders lightly, grip growing tighter as if he was afraid she would slip under the surface again.

“I can’t hear it. Even here I can’t hear it,” she rambled, her voice coming out unsteady and reedy. 

“Can’t hear what, Rose?” Hux asked. She shook her head, too weary to explain. She pulled away from him swimming to the edge of the spring. He followed, sloshing through the water. Once they reached the edge she pulled herself on a nearby rock and held her hand out to Hux. He took it pulling himself up beside her. They sat together soaking wet, like two drowned rats, hair plastered to their faces, clothes sticking to their cold skin. The sight was almost comical yet no one wanted to laugh. 

“I thought I could do it but I can’t. Without her, I am nothing,” Rose whispered to no one in particular. 

“Without who?” Hux asked. She looked at him, really looked at him for the first time. He had pushed his thick hair back away from his face. Drops of water still dangled from his lashes. His skin had gone pale in the cold water, gone was the light flush she had seen earlier. His green eyes shone in the fading light, reflecting bits of blue from the spring. Despite looking like a man half drowned she could not help but think him beautiful. 

“Rose, please tell me.” He reached for her haltingly, like she would bolt if he moved too quickly. Gently he pushed her wet hair away from her face, hand soft and gentle on her cold skin. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself luxuriate in the warmth of his fingers on her face. 

“My sister, Paige, was supposed to be the witch of this wood. She was the more talented witch, her magic more powerful.” She felt her heart constrict as the words poured out of her. She felt the sting of unshed tears behind her eyes. 

“She taught me everything I know about magic. How to coax a spell out gently so you could control it with ease. How to deliver a blessing that would stick, even through the toughest of times. How to administer a healing spell so seamlessly that the patient would not even feel the sharp sting of magic. She was a natural, everything came so easy to her. She would have served the wood better than I have.” Rose sniffed, attempting to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. 

“I’m sure your sister was a very talented witch but from what I can see you are equal in your skill. In my many centuries of life I have never seen magic wielded with such grace,” Hux replied. His voice was soft and sincere, his words making her blush.

“Thank you, but you did not see her work. She was something to behold.” Rose could not help the tear that escaped. She let it roll down her cheek, feeling too weak to wipe it away. 

“I’m sure she was. But believe me when I tell you, so are you.” She felt his finger under her chin, tilting her head up so she was forced to look into his eyes.

“Hux, I miss her so much,” she sobbed. The tears came fast now, her breath hitching as the grief took over her body. She felt his arms around her, felt him pull her close. She could feel the sparkling heat of magic as it danced over her skin, drying her clothes and hair, warming her from her numb fingers to her frosty toes. She sighed at the feeling, letting her sobs turn to silent tears as she clung to Hux’s now dry jerkin. His large hand swept across her back in soothing circles. 

“I wish I could tell you the pain will go away, that you will never feel the loss again, but I cannot lie to you. Centuries will only dull the pain, nothing can erase it,” his voice was thick with emotion and she could not help but wonder what he spoke of. 

“Who haunts you, Hux?” She asked, pulling away. 

“Many people, Rose.” He said as he stood up, hand outstretched in her direction. She took it and let him help her up. She stumbled slightly and he placed a hand on her waist to steady her. 

“Can you take us home, Hux?” She asked quietly. He nodded and in the blink of an eye they were in Rose’s cottage, surrounded by the pink glow of the setting sun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The heart of the woods is inspired by Ichetucknee Springs, one of Florida’s hidden gems. The fauna around it is a bit different but the spring itself is very much how I imagined it in this story. If you ever have the opportunity to visit, you should! It’s really beautiful.


	9. Chamomile

Hux watched as Rose made her way toward her small bed. She climbed on top of it, slipping the quilt over her shoulders. She did not close her eyes but stared off into the middle distance, her expression blank. He knew the feeling, the numbness that followed an outpouring of grief. He felt its twin now, the slow ache that lodged itself below one’s ribs. He felt it every time he thought of the way she had disappeared below the surface of that beautifully icy spring. He felt it when she sang that long buried song. He felt it every night he begged for rest, never getting the release of sleep. 

Millicent seemed to sense her discomfort, making her way to the bed and curling up beside her, placing her little head on Rose’s outstretched arm. She gave the creature a watery smile and gently stroked her between the ears. She purred loudly, showing her contentment. 

Hux made himself useful and banged about the cottage, attempting to cook them some semblance of a meal. He set about gathering ingredients: the meat from the hare, rosemary from the garden, a bit of red wine from a bottle hidden way back on one of the shelves, some butter, and a collection of root vegetables she had in a basket. He took her largest pan, melting the butter over the stove and added the meat, red wine, and shallots. Slowly he added carrots and radishes watching as the liquids sizzled from the heat of the fire. He was no chef but centuries of watching cooks with undisguised wonder gave him some confidence. 

When the meat looked cooked and the vegetables had achieved the desired softness, he deposited his creation onto two dishes and scooped up the long forgotten sweet rolls, placing them on the table. He turned to Rose, whose eyes had closed in a restless doze, her hand still resting on Millicent’s back. He shook her awake gently, his hand light on her shoulder. 

“Wake up, Rose. You must have something to eat.” Her eyes fluttered open and she stretched, dislodging his hand from her shoulder. She sat up and sniffed the air.

“Did you cook?” She asked incredulously.

“I did, indeed.”

“I did not know that was one of your talents.” She stood up and walked over to the table, taking a seat in front of the steaming plate of meat and vegetables. 

“I would have you taste it before you listed cooking as one of my many talents,” he replied modestly as he sat down across from her. She picked up her fork and gingerly dipped into her meal, picking up a small piece of meat and a slice of radish. She took a bit, chewing slowly, letting out a small contented sigh. 

“You sir, have a new talent,” she said, pointing her fork at him and smiling around the morsel of food in her mouth. 

Hux dug into his portion, taking a large bite. It tasted good, tangy and buttery with a bit of kick from the radishes. He could not help the swell of pride at his small success. 

“Perhaps I should do the cooking from now on? This is the best meal I’ve had under your roof,” he teased. She narrowed her eyes and kicked him playfully under the table.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, sir. One good meal does not a chef make.” He chuckled and dug back into his dinner. They sat like that for a while, in companionable silence, enjoying their food. The sun had gone down, leaving them in the glow of candle light. For a moment Hux imagined he was a mortal man and not some feted beast. He imagined that Rose was not the witch who summoned him but a woman who desired his company above all others. He lived in that fantasy for the duration of their meal, basking in the warmth that emanated from it. 

When they had finished, Rose conjured up some chamomile tea to have with their sweet rolls, pouring it into the fine china cups that Hux had made for her. Over the rim of her cup she peered at him, eyes studying him as if she were in search of a secret he had hidden away. 

“I believe this is the latest you ever stayed with me,” she said as she placed her tea on the table. He nodded thoughtfully as he chewed on his third sweet roll. 

“I suppose it is,” he replied before taking a sip of his tea. 

“You can come back later if you wish. Make up the time you have lost.” She stood, taking the empty dishes to her wash basin. Her hand twirled as she cleaned them with her magic. 

“I’m fine,” he protested. She turned back to him, leaning against the wash basin as she unbraided her hair, letting it fall loose to her waist. The sight of it all undone made his mouth run dry and his blood heat. He blinked, turning away before she could see the desire in his eyes.

“I can stay tonight, if you need me to.” He wanted to say that he did not want to leave, that he had no desire to leave her tonight or any night as long as he was under her command but the words stuck in his throat. 

“I could not ask that of you. Your time is your own, Hux. I have no right to it,” she replied.

“Finish your tea and enjoy your night. I’ll see you in the morning,” she said with a smile, silencing any protest from him. She moved away from the wash basin coming to a stop in front of him, the skirt of her dress brushing up against his bent knees. She was only a fraction taller than him in this position, their height difference almost comical. He looked up at her, his emotions surely plain on his face. She did not seem to notice, she just smiled serenely and leant forward planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. 

“Goodnight, Hux,” she whispered, softly stroking his cheek before she turned and began to ready herself for bed. 

****

Hux felt dazed. The feel of her lips on his skin lingered like the burn of a brand. He stood for a long time in her garden, blinking in the darkness trying to parse through the emotions that flitted through him.

Never once in his life, mortal or demon, had he been able to truly deal with his feelings, both good and bad. He was a stunted man who stuffed every emotion into a little bottle inside him. On occasion it became too full and let loose only anger and despair before Hux screwed the lid back on, ceasing any possibility of more unseemly emotions from escaping. 

For the first time in a long time he let the emotions that pinged inside him be. He did not try to swallow them down or stuff them into the bottle. He let himself feel them, to rest inside of the confusing mist of them. For once he did not want to escape them. 

He breathed in the night air as he tried to decide his destination. He looked about in the darkness and saw little in the glow of the crescent moon. He could see the outline of Rose’s garden, the little blossoms of the chamomile glowed blue. He could smell the rosemary bush, pungent and earthy. He heard the rustling of small creatures as they moved about in the underbrush. The gentle chirp of crickets sounded like a soft symphony, adding to the beauty around him. He searched his mind for a place to go, one that might rival the beauty of this wood. He thought of all his summonings, of all the places he had gone. 

He thought too of Rose’s task, of the task he was sure was the reason for his summoning. He had lied to Rose, he did not need rain to revive the fields, his power was great and it was a problem easily solved. But he did not want to leave her. The thought made him ache. It had not been long but he had fallen in love with her little life in the forest. He fell in love with her little cottage, with Millicent, with the river, he even fell in love with that icy spring. He had fallen, irrevocably, in love with Rose. God help him. 

Hux sighed, a shaky deep sigh, and looked up to the heavens. Through the trees he saw twinkling stars. He was reminded of several summonings past. It was some king from a land not far from Rose’s wood. He was nothing special, greedy and power hungry like many kings. He was so inconsequential Hux could not even recall what his task was. He only remembered the room in the palace where he had stayed, night after sleepless night. It had been a wonder with a beautiful domed glass ceiling that he would stare out of and observe the night sky. 

Hux also remembered the wizard who had kept him company. He was a young man at the time, new to the city. He had been a farmer, working the fields with his aunt and uncle. He happened upon his powers accidentally, unaware of his abilities and ignorant in the ways of magic. Hux had found him at times tiresome but ultimately his company proved to be pleasurable. He had a fine sense of humor and was enthusiastic about magic and was an apt student under Hux’s terse tutelage. His time with him was short, just a handful of moons, but Hux had grown strangely fond of the young wizard in that small period and was sad to leave him. 

Before Hux knew what he was doing, he had conjured up an image of that room and it’s beautiful domed ceiling. The image before him shuttered and glimmered like the surface of a puddle disturbed by falling rain. He stared at it a moment, unsure if this was truly where he wanted to be. He decided that it was a rather fine place to spend a night even if he only sat and observed the changing night sky. So he slipped through the portal he created with ease, feeling only the slight tingle of his magic shiver through him.

The room had changed over the centuries Hux had been away. The plain walls now bore murals of flowering trees and birds in flight. The furniture had been rudimentary and unadorned but now the room was decorated with finely crafted artifacts, fit for a king. He noticed the glass had been replaced as well. It was clearer, the image crisper than the slightly warbled picture that the old glass revealed. The changes made the room feel almost enchanted, as if it was the dwelling of a fairy princess or an otherworldly knight. 

Somewhere deep in the darkness of the room a rattling cough erupted. Hux squinted in the direction of the noise, searching for the source. He heard the sound of flint striking and saw the spark of flame before it was shoved inside a lantern. The light illuminated the face of an old man, gray beard and all. The man shuffled forward, lantern close to his face as he tried to search for the creature who disturbed him.

“Who goes there?” He grumbled. Hux stood still as the man came closer and closer. As the light began to touch him, illuminating his face, he heard the man gasp and then chuckle to himself.

“It is you!” He said with a disbelieving laugh, moving closer. As Hux got a better look at the man he realized it was the face of the wizard he had known so long ago albeit older. His once youthful face now decorated with deep lines. 

“And it is you,” Hux replied, brows raised in question. 

“How long has it been, old friend?” The old wizard asked. He clapped a hand on Hux’s back, an approximation of a friendly embrace.

“A handful of centuries, I suspect.” Hux watched as the wizard shuffled past him, pulling a chair out from a table, letting out a long sigh as he took a seat. He beckoned Hux over, gesturing to the chair opposite him. He accepted the invitation, sinking into the chair the wizard had offered. 

For a long moment the old friends regarded each other in silence. The glow of the lamp cast warm light across their faces, illuminating the peaks and casting the valleys in dark shadow. In another time and another place Hux would have used the light to his advantage, using the contrast to distort his features. It was best for a demon to be frightening, to inspire fear in the hearts of men. It kept them at a distance, it kept them safe from the allure of human companionship. But it had been a long while since Hux desired such a reaction. The idea of it made him feel weary. He was too old for such trickery.

“What brings you here, my dark friend?” The wizard asked, brows raised in question. 

“Boredom.” Hux replied coolly. The wizard shook his head with a smile.

“Try again.” 

“Your company.” Hux tried. The wizard laughed loudly, shaking his head a second time.

“You had no idea I would be here. Try again, demon.” Hux glared at the wizard. What did this old fool know? Apparently a lot.

“I am trying to solve a problem. And the last place I ever thought clearly was this room under these stars.” At his words both Hux and the wizard turned their eyes heavenward, taking in the sight of the twinkling stars.

“There is a problem a demon can’t solve?” The old man asked, eyes never leaving the sight above them. 

“Apparently.” 

“Does the problem have a name?” The wizard said, turning his attention back to Hux. Hux looked away, eyes tracing over the image of a diving swallow on the wall.

“Rose.” The wizard smiled, a slow broad smile at Hux’s revelation. 

“Oh so it’s that kind of problem.” Hux felt himself blush. He was happy that it was too dark for the wizard to see.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hux grumbled, knowing full well what the wizard meant. 

“Nothing in particular.” He replied mysteriously, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m not here for riddles, old man.” Hux grumbled. The wizard laughed incredulously. 

“Old man? That’s rich coming from you! Tell me, dear demon, how many centuries of life are you coming up on? I’m sure you’re close to a millennia by now.” Hux rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“At least I don’t look it.” He said as he studied the deep lines on the old wizard's face. Even in this light Hux could see the sparkle of his nearly white hair. 

“I apologize. Not all of us have the malevolent power to keep our youthful glow.” The wizard’s words sounded angry but his voice was playful. He was enjoying the banter. 

“You are forgiven.” Hux replied, unable to hide the smirk on his lips. 

“So tell me more about your Rose problem.” The wizard prompted. 

“ _She_ is not the problem. She has a problem. And I am not sure how to fix it.” Hux explained. The wizard leaned forward, peering across the table. He studied Hux for a moment before sitting back, a sly smile on his face.

“Rose is not the only one with a problem.” 

“It is her troubles that I wish to solve not anyone else’s.” Hux replied. The wizard nodded, that damned smile still tracing his lips. 

“Tell me about this Rose of yours.”

“She is not mine,” Hux bristled. The old man’s eyes twinkled in the dim light. 

“That is _your_ problem. I thought we were talking about hers,” his smile grew even more, revealing teeth in his exuberance. Hux felt his skin heat in embarrassment, from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“Do shut up.” He snapped.

“Don’t you want my help?” Asked the old wizard in mock innocence. 

“Yes, of course. But I would prefer it without the color commentary.” Hux grumbled, shifting in his seat. 

“Duly noted,” the wizard nodded in assent. Hux was not fool enough to think his teasing was over.

“When did you become so goddamn perceptive?” The old wizard laughed. It was a nice sound, one that had not changed much over the centuries. 

“Years of trials and tribulations have sharpened my skill into a fine point.” He replied with a chuckle. 

“It is annoying.” Hux countered with a smile. 

“I count that as a success,” The wizard replied proudly. 

“Of course _you_ would.” Hux scoffed, unable to hide the smile that remained on his face. In truth, he missed the ease and light teasing that characterized his conversations with the wizard. 

“Do you want my advice or not? Because if not, I would like to get some beauty rest.” The old man made as if he was about to leave, pushing his chair back along the floor. 

“Alright, wizard. What do you know of witches?” Hux asked in hopes of keeping him there. The wizard smiled and settled back in his chair.

“Is Rose a witch?” He asked.

“Yes. This is why I ask.” The wizard nodded sagely, scratching at his beard. 

“I know quite a bit. I’m related to one.”

“Tell me what you know.” Hux demanded. 

“You must be more specific, friend.” Hux sighed in frustration. Getting information out of this old man was like pulling teeth. 

“Rose lives in a wood. An enchanted wood, as it were. She cares for it and she is somehow connected to it. What do you know of this?” Hux asked. The old wizard scratched his beard in thought, leaning back in his chair as if preparing for a long speech. Hux braced for impact. 

“It is not my speciality but I will tell you what I know. The connection you describe is rare and special. A witch who is married to the wood, such as your Rose, is a very powerful creature. But with all great power comes an even greater risk. Rose’s soul is intertwined with the wood. If there are problems in the wood Rose will feel it, as deeply as if it were her own ailments. If the problem is great enough, she could become ill herself, too weak to reverse its effects. Conversely, if there is trouble in Rose the wood feels that too. Their relationship is symbiotic. One cannot thrive without the other. One cannot _live_ without the other.” Hux sat with this information for a moment, letting it sink in. He did not know what to make of it so he pressed further.

“The village that Rose cares for is experiencing hardship. Their crops will not grow. The villagers believe there is a sickness in the wood but Rose cannot feel it. This fact disturbs her greatly.”

“Then Rose is the problem.” The wizard answered with a shrug. Hux did not enjoy that answer.

“She is not.” He ground out, through gritted teeth.

“I beg to differ.” The old man replied with a chuckle.

“You are wrong, old fool.” Hux snapped. The wizard raised his hands in defense, chuckling at Hux’s outburst. 

“I do not mean to besmirch your little witch. It is not a lack of skill that disturbs the wood but it is inner turmoil in Rose that makes the earth barren.” He explained. Hux’s anger dissipated but was replaced with worry. 

“What ails her?” The old man shrugged. 

“I do not know. You are better acquainted with her than I.” Hux nodded as he thought back to their many conversations. She seemed a happy woman, perhaps lonely but otherwise she had seemed pleased with her life. It was not until today that he was aware of anything amiss. He had not expected the force of her grief but understood it. It was a mirror of his own.

“She grieves her sister. She was a witch as well.” The wizard shook his head, dismissing the answer.

“Grief does not usually manifest itself like that. Grief, as damaging as it may be, is not so harmful. It can be crippling and can swallow a person whole, but it is not so destructive. It is too cathartic. Nature understands grief. There is something else that nature cannot contend with.” Hux did not understand his answer but did not question it. The wizard seemed sure of himself and Hux knew him to be a smart man. 

“Perhaps you should meet her. Your preternatural perceptiveness could be put to good use.” Hux suggested. The wizard shook his head. He leaned forward on the table, a finger pointed in Hux’s direction. 

“You are her demon. It is up to you to solve this puzzle.” He announced. Hux sighed and shook his head.

“And so ends my summoning.”

“And now we arrive at your problem.” The wizard replied with a sly smile. Hux glared back. Damn this old man’s shrewd eye. He did not like being so transparent. 

“I grow weary of your company, wizard.” He stood abruptly from his chair. The old man laughed at him making Hux’s frown deepen. 

“Oh hush. You’re as sensitive as a wounded cat.” The old man chuckled. Hux slammed his fist into the table, silencing the old wizard but only for a moment. 

“I came here for Rose. Nothing more.” 

“I believe we are still on the subject.” The old man did nothing to hide his mirth. He seemed to enjoy making Hux angry.

“Damn you.” Hux growled. 

“Is that what you really want? If I am made a demon I can pester you for all eternity. Seems like something you would want to avoid.” The old man pointed out, gleefully. Hux was not amused. 

“Even hell would not want you,” Hux shot back. The wizard laughed, long and hearty, further angering Hux.

“What a relief.” The old wizard japed. Hux sighed and made to leave. 

“I shall leave you to rest.” He announced. The old man jumped up and moved with shocking agility to stand in front of him, arms up in supplication. 

“No, no, no. I can’t sleep now. Keep me company.” Hux regarded him for a moment. In truth he did not want to leave. Despite his merciless teasing, Hux was enjoying his company. He was desirous of the easy conversation they shared. He sat back down across from the old wizard who smiled triumphantly at his return. 

“Tell me about your Rose.” He prompted. 

“She is a talented witch.” Hux replied. The old wizard shook his head.

“This I know. Tell me more.” Hux sighed and looked up through the glass ceiling. He watched the stars for a moment. They twinkled in the darkness of the sky, creating constellations that Hux could not name. Long ago he knew what they were called. The language he had for them was lost, forced to some dusty corner of his mind. He supposed if he tried hard enough he could remember but he had little desire to find out. Uncovering their names could unearth other things he wished to keep buried. 

He searched for the right words to describe Rose, and none came. He supposed he could tell the old wizard of her beauty, her tenacity, her sharp wit. He could tell him how the stars in the sky could not compare to the beauty of her eyes. He could tell him how magic flowed from her with unmatched grace. He could tell him about her soft smile, the dimples in her cheeks, the pink rosiness of lips, the freckles on her nose, and the way her beautiful form filled out a dress. He could say all those things but they would not suffice. No words could truly capture her, she was beyond all description. _God help him!_

“She is kindness incarnate.” He finally answered. “Her sweetness is unparalleled. There is no one in this world or the next to rival her.” The old man’s face softened and the smile on his lips grew. Apparently, this brief description was enough. 

“Oh my.” He breathed. 

“What?” Hux asked. 

“You have quite the dilemma.”

“Is that so?” Hux quirked his brow in question. 

“Yes! You love the girl!” The old wizard exclaimed, throwing his arms out in excitement. Hux’s rolled his eyes. How did he end up with such a sentimental old fool?

“You are hideously infuriating.” The old wizard grinned.

“One of my many talents.” He replied. He watched Hux for a long moment, a soft smile on his face. His expression had gone from merciless teasing to soft affection.

“Who knew a demon could fall in love.” The old wizard’s voice was filled with wonder. Hux leant forward, defeated. He ran his hands over his face.

“Certainly not I.” He replied quietly. The old wizard clapped his hands in delight.

“This is wonderful!” 

“This is torture.” Hux groaned. 

“Sweet torture, to be sure,” The old man replied enthusiastically. 

“These feelings are inconvenient.” Hux grumbled. The wizard shrugged.

“They often are.”

“I cannot act on them.” Hux stated emphatically. 

“Why not?” The old man tilted his head in question, bushy brows drawn together in confusion.

“I am a demon!” Hux exclaimed as if that was all the explanation needed.

“I am well aware.”

“Then you should be able to understand my dilemma. I cannot, in good conscience, act on my feelings.” Hux replied with deadly finality as if his words were gospel truth. The wizard shook his head in defiance.

“What if your feelings are returned?” He suggested.

“It matters not.”

“Shouldn’t Rose decide that for herself?” Hux looked heavenward, at the stars that sparkled like Rose’s eyes. What if she shared his feelings? The idea made something inside him thrill, but he pushed that feeling away. He was not good enough for her. She needed someone far better than him. 

“No.” Hux replied softly. The old man stared at him for a moment, examining him like a tome. Before him Hux felt like an open book, soul laid bare for his viewing. He must have seen the truth because he let out a shocked laugh. 

“Ha! You are afraid.”

“Am not.” Hux protested though he knew the truth of his words. 

“Are to! Imagine, a big scary demon afraid of a sweet little witch.” The old waggled his fingers like he was telling a spooky tale to a child. Hux found the action infuriating. 

“I should roast you alive, wizard,” he threatened. The old man laughed. 

“You will not. You’re not as evil as you imagine.” He protested. 

“You test my limits.”

“As a good friend should.” The wizard was smiling, eyes sparkling at the teasing turn of their conversation. 

“I have no friends.” Hux’s announced.

“Beg to differ,” the old man countered. Hux couldn’t help but smile.

“You do not count. Raving lunatics make poor friends.” To another his words may have seemed cruel but the wizard only grinned at his insults.

“I’m sure Rose considers you a friend.”

“She should not.” Hux stated emphatically. The old man sighed, throwing his hands up in exacerbation.

“You are so very afraid, my friend. What are you so fearful of? What will Rose see if she can see your heart?” He asked as he reached out a hand to poke Hux in the chest. It was not a gentle poke and Hux rubbed the spot. He frowned.

“I do not know. It is not an organ I am familiar with.” He replied. The old man got up and shuffled to some far away corner, using an illuminating spell to light his way. He pulled a bottle of wine from a cabinet and two glasses from a drawer. He shuffled back over placing the glasses on the table.

“Familiarize yourself. It will benefit you greatly.” He said as he poured wine into the two glasses. He handed Hux one.

“I am not here for my benefit.” Hux grumbled. The old man rolled his eyes.

“Goodness you are tiresome.” 

“Men with glass roofs should not throw stones.” Hux said with a smile. The wizard let out a small chuckle.

“Very funny.”

“Thank you.” They each took a sip of wine sitting in silence. It was not an awkward weighty silence but a companionable one. A silence that could only be achieved in the company of close friends. 

“What have you been doing for the last three centuries?” Hux asked, breaking the quiet. 

“Oh this and that. Deposed of a king there, freed a kingdom here, became a recluse. Normal stuff.” The old wizard said with a wave of a hand. Hux chuckled at his nonchalance.

“Sounds rather dull.”

“Extraordinarily so.” The wizard replied with a nod, taking another sip of his wine. Hux stared at him in the dim light, once again taking in the lines of his face, the creases between his brows, the gray of his beard. Time had surely passed but it had been kind to the old man. 

“How do you explain your longevity?” Hux asked, his curiosity peaked. The old wizard grinned.

“Tenacity.” Hux laughed, shaking his head. 

“I’m sure that’s not all.” Hux replied.

“It turns out I come from a line of rather powerful wizards. Magic such as that is too great to contain in one lifetime.” The wizard said with a shrug. 

“It explains why you were such a quick study.” Hux said, his mind flitting back to all their lessons together. 

“I had a good teacher. A few in fact.”it seemed the wizard’s mind traveled the same path. The memory sat between them, giving off a companionable warmth. 

“I am glad to hear.” Hux replied, his voice quiet but warm. The old man smiled and reached across the table. His hand covered Hux’s in a gesture filled with words not said. 

“There is good in you, friend.” He said softly. Hux shook his head. 

“You grow sentimental,” he said as he pulled his hand away, the emotions of the moment becoming too much.

“Maybe so but I am honest,” the old man countered. Hux sighed, knowing all protests would be silenced by the old fool.

“I should leave you now.” Hux announced, moving to stand. The wizard held out a hand to stop him.

“Stay a bit longer. Have some more wine. The sun will rise soon. There is nothing more beautiful than the sight of it through the glass.” Hux looked at the old wizard long and hard. He had to admit that few things sounded more appealing than spending the rest of the night here in companionable silence, watching the night turn into the beauty of day. 

“Alright. I will stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References for the domed glass room:
> 
> When writing this chapter I looked at a lot of images of Victorian era greenhouses particularly this one in Belgium. I do t know of any rooms with domed glass ceilings except for greenhouses like this. But I found them to be so beautiful and like something an old tired wizard would find very peaceful. https://www.europeanbestdestinations.com/top/best-greenhouses-in-europe/ 
> 
> The art work on the walls was inspired by rococo Chinoiserie murals and wallpaper. Particularly from the set design of the Austrian film Mademoiselle Paradis, which is a really excellent movie and beautifully shot and constructed. If you like foreign films about real historical women, feminist themes, and a historical look at disabilities you will really like this movie.  
> https://www.efp-online.com/en/films/11106/Mademoiselle%20Paradis 
> 
> https://www.invaluable.com/blog/chinoiserie/


	10. Mint

Hux returned mid-morning, smelling of wine and dust and, to Rose’s great shock, perspiration. The slightly sour scent of a sweaty human body wafted off of him as he sidled up to her, stealing a biscuit off the rack. She turned to him, brow furrowed and eyes scanning him.

He looked as he usually did, his black clothes smooth, his cloak clasped around his shoulders, his green eyes clear. But she noticed, for the first time, small mauve half moons under his eyes. His usually immaculate copper hair was slightly greasy and dull. And if one looked closely enough, the smooth skin of his jaw had a shadowing of a growing beard. How very odd. 

“Hux, I hope you do not find me rude, but you smell...distinctive.” Hux scowled in response.

“What do you mean _distinctive_?” He asked accusingly.

“Use your imagination. Or better yet, your nose.” She suggested. He lifted his arm slowly and sniffed, pulling a face when the scent hit him.

“You are right.” He conceded. His brow furrowed in confusion. He scratched along his jaw as he pondered. His eyes went large as realization hit him and he ran his hand along his jaw feeling the stubble there.

“What is this?” He muttered.

“The beginnings of a beard, I think.” Rose replied. He frowned at her.

“I am well aware. But what is it doing on _my_ face?” She shrugged, turning back to her biscuits.

“Growing, I suspect.” She heard him chuckle behind her. 

“You are as insufferable as the old man.” He muttered in response. Her brows furrowed.

“Who?” She asked as she turned to look at him. He waved his hand, dismissing her question. 

“Nevermind. Have you noticed any of these things before? Is this the first time I have smelt...distinctive?” He asked.

“As far as I can recall.” He scratched his head, brows furrowed. He rubbed at his face as if the action would remove the stubble.

“Curious.” Was his soft reply. 

“How so?”

“Demons do not usually smell,” he explained. “Not like humans anyway. Sometimes we smell of sulfur when we are feeling overly dramatic but otherwise we are a rather odorless bunch.” Rose nodded, attempting to follow along.

“Why do you smell?” She asked. He shrugged. 

“Couldn’t say. It’s as much a mystery to me as it is to you.” He stood up and walked toward her, reaching around to pluck another biscuit from the counter.

“Not much of a mystery to me. You were sweating like a pig yesterday.” She pointed out. 

“Like a truffle pig?” He quipped. She giggled at his joke, nodding gleefully. 

“Indeed.” She said with a smile. He smiled back before taking a large bite of his biscuit. 

“I do recall feeling a bit overheated when I was chasing a madwoman through a damnable forest. But, alas, I was distracted from my discomfort when she launched herself into an ice cold spring.” She blushed at the memory. She still felt the heat of embarrassment from her behavior the day before. Fear had overcome her and she had no power to stop it. She had never meant to be so vulnerable in front of him. She had not wanted anyone to see her in such a state. 

“I don’t recall asking you to follow me,” she said softly. 

“I would follow you anywhere, little witch.” He replied as he made to remove his cloak. He did not look at her as he said it. She was glad. His words made her cheeks heat and her heart flutter. It would not do to have him notice such things. 

“I had planned to go to the river today, anyway. You can bathe while I wash the sheets,” she suggested with as much nonchalance as she could muster. Just the idea of him in any state of undress made her cheeks heat further.

“Alright,” was his terse reply. 

“Shall I pack a picnic?” She asked as she gathered some apples and cheese from the larder. 

“Have I ever once refused food?” He asked playfully, taking one of the apples from her hand. He bit into it, grinning around the mouthful of fruit. She shook her head and laughed.

“I will get some bread and we will be on our way.” 

They walked leisurely through the forest. Hux had left his cloak behind but Rose noticed that his cheeks had gone ruddy and a slight sheen began to grace his brow. He seemed overheated. 

“You’re sweating again, truffle pig.” She called behind her as she stopped by a fallen log, waiting for him to catch up. He huffed at that, picking his way through the roots and rocks. 

“How do you mortals live like this? The feeling of sticky skin is absolutely horrid.” He whined. 

“Such is life,” she replied as he went to sit on the log. He ran his hands through his limp hair and wiped at his brow. He began to roll up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his pale forearms. She saw the blue of his veins through his thin skin and in the light his reddish hair glistened. Again she felt the heat of a blush on her cheeks and a twisting feeling low in her belly. She looked away from his skin to the black of his shirt, at the way it clung to his damp skin. 

“When we get to the river I’ll give your clothes a wash. I’m sure they need it.” He looked up at her, a smirk on his face.

“What shall I wear then, little witch?” He asked, his voice as smooth as silk.

“The usual attire for bathing, I would think,” she replied, hoping her blush was not so apparent. 

“Of course. But am I to wait for my clothes to dry? Or should I walk home bare as a babe?” She looked at him then, very aware that she could no longer hide her blush. He was grinning now, fully aware of how he teased her.

“I believe between the two of us we can conjure up something for modesty’s sake, truffle pig.” She beckoned for him to get up as she began to walk once more toward the river. He followed dutifully.

“Truffle pig? Is that what I have been reduced to?” He asked.

“”What would you prefer? Gangly demon? Hungry goat? Smelly man?” She asked. He huffed behind her.

“Hux suits me fine. If you are feeling particularly brave, Armitage would do as well.” She turned her head to look at him, brow raised. 

“Armitage?” 

“That is my first name,” he explained.

“Demons have first names?” She asked.

“Not really but men tend to.” Rose stopped dead in her tracks and stared at him a moment. His name was the only thing he had shared about his past as a mortal and she wondered what prompted this confession. He was usually so elusive when it came to questions about himself and yet this bit of information was freely given.

“So you are Armitage Hux?” She asked. He looked worried for a moment.

“Yes. Does that name mean anything to you?” He asked quietly. She wondered if it should.

“No. Only that it is your name.” He nodded thoughtfully and they continued to walk in silence for a stretch. It was not the companionable silence she was used to but thick with some unnamed emotion. It felt awkward and she longed for their teasing to commence.

“Did you just go by Armitage or did you have a nickname? Armie? Tage? No, no that would be a terrible nickname. Arm?” She rambled, trying to pick up the thread of conversation again. She heard him chuckle behind her.

“Most people called me Hux. Some would call me Armitage. Only one person called me Armie.” He replied. 

“Who called you Armie?” She asked. He was quiet for a long moment and Rose wondered if she had gone too far.

“My mother,” he answered softly. She glanced back at him to see he was not looking at her but up at the sky. 

“What should I call you?” she asked.

“Armitage.” He replied, eyes turning back to her. She nodded and they made their way in companionable silence, reaching the river at last. 

It was a sunny and warm day and the water had gone from cold iciness to a tolerable chill. They each took a different spot in the river so they could go about their business with relative privacy. Rose had set up a washing station down river from Hux, no, Armitage. She soaked the sheets in the river, tethering them to her using a simple spell. She had stripped down to her shift so she could bathe while she did the washing, waist deep in the gently rushing water. 

Armitage was not far from her, up the river a ways in the spot she had bathed in a few days prior. He had heated the water around him as he bathed, sending little tendrils of hot water down river, to wrap around Rose like an embrace. It almost felt as if his fingers had lengthened and floated down to caress her skin through her gauzy shift. The thought made her shiver. 

She had plucked some wild mint that grew along the river bank and was chewing it as she scrubbed at her sheets with her lavender and lye soap. She let the flavor of it envelope her tongue. The taste of the mint was strong, making her mouth feel almost icy and clearing her head of all thoughts of handsome demons. The smell was cool and sharp and she had the idea to fold some dried leaves in her freshly laundered sheets so she might smell them late at night. She wondered if Hux would like the smell in his clothes.

Suddenly she remembered that she had not collected his clothes. She glanced sideways to see them sitting, unattended, on the bank of the river near where he was bathing. She cursed to herself. 

“Hux!” She called. She could hear the water splashing as he turned toward the sound of her voice. 

“Yes?” He called back.

“I need to come get your clothes. I promise to honor your modesty if you honor mine,” she heard him chuckle.

“Alright, be quick about it.” He replied.

Slowly she made her way to the river bank, wading through the cool water. She stepped on shore and pointedly avoided looking back into the river. She saw his clothes sitting in a black puddle on the ground and she focused solely on that as she marched toward where Armitage was scrubbing away in the river. She could smell the sharp mint and cedarwood of his soap as she approached and she could not help but inhale it greedily knowing how his skin would soak in the scent. 

She bent to pick up his clothes and heard the water move as she did so. Not thinking, she turned to the sound and saw Hux’s naked back. The sight made her still, heart pumping wildly as the image coalesced in her mind. The water barely covered his backside, stopping at the dip of his spine. He was well formed, slight but muscular, his arms curved with muscle, and moles and freckles decorated the pale expanse of his skin. He scrubbed at his hair making his back ripple. Her breath caught at the sight of it and she could feel heat pool in her lower belly. God help her. 

She turned abruptly, darting back to her place in the river. She tried to even out her breathing and think of anything but Hux. She tried to erase the image of him but for the life of her she could not. All she could see was the way the drops of water trickled down the planes of his back or how the sun kissed the shiny pink line of an old scar on his ribs. She wondered if he felt as soft as he looked. 

“Rose?” He called. She nearly jumped out of her skin, making the water around her tremble.

“Yes?” She squeaked. 

“Do you have another song for me?” He asked. She sighed, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Must I always entertain you?” She heard the water move and the sound of a gentle sigh.

“You must appease me, little witch. A dissatisfied demon is a dangerous thing.” She swallowed as she thought of all the ways she could satisfy him, and herself. 

“What shall I sing?” She asked, voice breathier than she would have liked. 

“Anything.” She thought back through all the songs she knew. There was a sweet [song](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=YVITux76S0U) she remembered from her childhood, one that Paige and her would sing as they searched for herbs in the forest, one that would help their mother find them when it was time for dinner. In her mind it was a song a doe might sing to her fawn or a badger might hum as it waddled to its den.

When she had finished she could hear the sound of him walking through the water and making his way toward the shore. 

“Are you decent?” She asked over her shoulder. 

“Give me a moment.” He replied. She heard a small sound and then a contented sigh. 

“I’m decent,” he called to her. She turned to see him sitting on a large rock, basking in the warmth of sun, a towel wrapped around his shoulders and clean drawers around his waist. 

“Would you help me wring out the sheets?” She asked, pulling out the sodden cloth from the river. He nodded and stood. He left the towel on the rock, leaving him bare to the waist. As he approached she flung one end of the sodden sheet toward him. An arc of water droplets hit him in the face making him flinch. She laughed at him as he rubbed the water from his eyes. 

“Very funny.” 

“I didn’t mean to do it! It was just a happy accident.” She said with a smile. He chuckled as he picked up the other end of the sheet from the surface of the river. 

“You needn’t mock me!” He exclaimed 

“But it’s too much fun, truffle pig.” 

“Armitage,” he corrected. 

“Armitage.” She amended. He began to twist the sheets in his hands, making the muscles of his arms move and ripple under his pale skin. From this vantage point she could see his front, the slight softness of his stomach, the pink of his nipples, the light dusting of hair at his navel. _God help her._

All the work she had done to forget the contours of his body was completely ruined. Her mind was filled with him and she cursed herself for being weak enough to desire a closer look. She tried to focus on her task, twisting her sheets in time with Armitage and letting the water run into the river. When she felt the sheets had been rung out enough she called him forward and handed him her end of the sheets, making sure it did not touch the water. Their hands brushed as she handed them sheets, blushing at the feel of his skin beneath her fingers.

“I’ll be just a moment. I need to scrub and rinse your clothes and then we will be on our way.” He nodded, holding the sheets in his hand.

“What shall I do with these?” He said lifting the bundle up slightly as if he was afraid she would not know what he was referring to. 

“Hang then in that tree just there.” She pointed to a tree not far behind him with low hanging branches she often utilized for this purpose. He went to do as she asked, flinging the sheets over the lower branches. 

“They will not be dry in time.” He argued. 

“They will. I’ll make sure of it. Let the sun dry them for now.” She said with a dismissive wave as she picked up his dirtied shirt from the river. Like the sheets she had corralled his clothing to her with a small spell so they could soak in the river. She plucked each item free and set to scrubbing them one after another, watching with satisfaction as the dirt and grime slid from the cloth and into the waiting river.

In all honesty she knew many spells that could accomplish this task. Her relationship with water spells was intimate and she could command its movements with ease. In a blink of an eye all could be washed and dried but Rose found joy in the activity. There was little in the world as satisfying to her as making a dirty thing clean. 

When her task was done she set about bathing herself. She used the bar of soap Hux had conjured for her, enjoying the silky feel of it against her skin. The smell of lavender and honey filled her senses as she scrubbed at the roots of her hair, sighing in satisfaction at the feel of her fingers on her scalp. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to have Armitage’s long fingers in her hair. Her scalp tingled at the thought. 

“Are you almost done?” Armitage called as she took one last dip in the river. 

“I am. Give me a moment to dress,” she replied as she gathered his clothes, bringing them to the low hanging branch where her sheets sat. 

“You are taking too long. I will start the picnic without you.” He announced. She huffed in feigned annoyance. 

“Patience is a virtue.” She said as she dried her shift. 

“I have no need for virtues.” She laughed at his joke as she slipped her dress over her head and tied the laces of her kirtle.

“You’re a beast.” She said as she turned to him. He had sat back on the rock, towel over his shoulders again. He was cutting one of the apples with a knife. He looked up to see her approaching and smiled. 

“It is my nature, little witch. You best get used to it,” he replied with a grin so beautiful it rivaled the river itself. She sat beside him on the rock, breaking off a hunk of bread and handing it to him. He thanked her and handed her some apple and cheese in return. They sat in the sunshine for a time, eating their food and watching the river pass by them. 

“Rose I have something I need to tell you,” Armitage announced with no preamble. Rose started a little at his sudden outburst. The way he said it made her strangely nervous.

“Go on.”

“Yesterday your friends, Poe and Finn, were interrogating me about the nature of our relationship. I was fearful of them discovering what I was so I told a lie that I did not fully think through.” He did not look her in the eye and there was a faint blush on his cheeks at his admission. 

“What did you tell them?” She asked, trying to keep her voice even and her emotions neutral. 

“That we were betrothed.” She felt something inside her tighten at his words. 

“That is quite the lie.” She replied, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“It is indeed.” He had the wherewithal to look ashamed. It did little to abate her rising anger.

“You most certainly did not think that through.” She said, her voice becoming cold and stealy. She had felt many things at his confession but now all she felt was anger.

“No I did not.” He admitted. Though he seemed contrite, Rose could not help but feel fury at his carelessness. He was like a bull in a china shop, uncaring and reckless. 

“Have you any idea what this means for me?” She asked, her voice finally rising. 

“I have some inkling.” He gritted out. He still did not meet her eye and instead studied the knife and apple in his hand.

“I do not think you do. Hux, when you leave, as you most certainly will, I will be left without a _betrothed_. And when that happens I will be considered unmarriageable by the village, tainted goods. All trust will be gone and I will have no way of securing the forest with a new protector! You have done badly by me!” She was shouting now. Her voice had risen so loudly that birds escaped from their trees. The river churned in response to her spike in emotion. He looked up at her, finally, eyes sharp and cheeks stained pink in anger.

“They are fools if they think that would ruin you. A woman cannot be ruined by a man. It is lunacy. Besides; I swore your friends to secrecy, they will not betray you.” He replied, his voice rising to match hers. 

“It may be lunacy but it is the way they think. And Poe and Finn, as kind as they may be, cannot keep a secret to save their wretched lives! I am sure they have told half the village by now!” She stood and began to pace. He stood as well letting the towel drop and revealing his bare chest which had gone pink in his anger.

“How was I to know that?” He asked.

“Do not act blameless!” She shouted at him. He moved back from the force of her words but his eyes narrowed as his own anger built. 

“I am not blameless. But I did this all to protect you. If the village knew what I was, or _who_ I was, it could spell your end.” Rose knew he was right. Conjuring a demon was dangerous for many reasons, one of which was the fear and disdain men often had for dark creatures and women with magic in their veins. She trusted the villagers but only so far. The unspoken contract she had with them would most assuredly be broken if they knew Hux was a demon.

But all rational thought had left, her anger was a force and it was fueled by more than his admission. Fear, frustration, and confusion fused into irrational fury. It made her lash out. 

“Who are you, Hux? Why would it be so disastrous for the village to know I keep a man such as yourself?” She pointed an accusing finger at him. He brushed it aside storming off down the bank to pluck his clothes from the tree. 

“Never mind that.” He grumbled as he pulled on his shirt and then his breeches. 

“Why are you so evasive? What are you hiding from me?” She asked as she followed him down the bank, grabbing her sheets from the branch.

“Nothing that is of any concern of yours.” He slipped his jerkin on and pushed past her to return to the rock. She followed him, howling her displeasure like a fishwife.

“How is it not my concern? Are you not my _betrothed_? How can I live a life of wedded bliss with a man I do not know the slightest bit about?” He turned and glared at her, making her step back. She had forgotten for a moment what it meant to be a demon, if she were honest with herself she had forgotten that many times since their meeting. Now it was all too clear and she felt a spike of fear at all he was capable of.

“You grow tiresome, little witch!” He ground our between clenched teeth. Her anger eclipsed her fear and she stamped her foot in defiance. 

“Tell me what I must know! It is the least you can do after you effectively destroyed my future!” She demanded. He nodded and grabbed her wrist, pulling her close. 

“I will show you.” And then the world shuttered around them and they stood on a rocky cliff in a place that Rose did not know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Rose sings is Laura Veirs’ “I Can See Your Tracks”. To be honest the whole album is really a ~mood~ so if you get a chance I would highly recommend a listen.


	11. Salt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for this chapter: there are depictions abuse, death, and murder in this chapter. 
> 
> If you want to proceed I have put *** around where these depictions start and end so you can avoid that if you so choose.

Centuries had passed and yet so little had changed. The hills still shone green, the rocky cliffs still jutted out over a stormy sea. It still smelt of salt, and grass, and an ever present damp. Each grey stone was still covered in soft green moss and the sound of crashing waves still sounded like a lullaby. It should not have felt so strange. Hux always knew that this place was somehow outside of time. It was eternal. 

He never imagined he would come back. He never wanted to and he doubted that anyone would summon him here. And he had been glad. It had been a gift, one of the many that he had received since his damnation. Upon ridding himself of mortality he had shed all that was his life before. Gone were the cliffs, the greenery, the sea, the salt air, all of it. He had slipped it off of him like one would rid themselves of a winter cloak. And with that went every memory of his life before. He had stored them away amongst the moss covered rocks. Now, upon his return, everything came flooding back and he was confronted with a harsh reality: he had never really left. 

Beside him Rose let out a small gasp. He looked down and realized his hand was still gripping her wrist like a vice. He released it muttering an apology. She looked up at him, eyes confused and perhaps a bit fearful. It hurt to see that look there. He wanted to reach out to her again, touch her cheek, reassure her that he would never harm but he did not. 

She moved away from the edge of the cliff and looked about her. He watched as she took in their surroundings and breathed in the salt air. He wondered if she had ever seen the sea or stood on a cliff such as this. He thought to ask her but his tongue remained still in his mouth and the words remained trapped behind his teeth. 

“Where are we?” She asked looking around, bringing her arms around her to fight off the bite of the chilling wind. He snapped his fingers and his cloak appeared around her shoulders. She drew the edges of it in, letting the black fabric engulf her small frame. 

“Arkanis.” He replied. She looked up at him eyebrows raised.

“So you really are from here?” He nodded and was surprised to see her smile.

“I knew it! I knew you weren’t lying,” she said triumphantly. He let out a small huff of laughter and shook his head. 

“You are a strange creature.” He did not look at her but looked back out over cliffs and meadows before them, watching the grass bend in the wind. 

“Is this what you came to show me? The horror of the sea? The evil of the green grass and rolling hills?” She asked sarcastically. 

“No. Follow me.” He moved past her not turning to see if she had done as he asked. 

He walked quickly toward the hills and through the grass, enjoying the sweet smell of it. Though magic did not bind him to this land something else did and he felt the beat of it inside him as he took each step. It hummed inside him and he wondered if it was kin to the feeling that Rose held for the wood. Was there a small bit of magic in every being that awakened when they were in the place they belonged? Did every creature feel this strange tenderness for the place of their birth or was the beauty of this place so unique that the feeling only touched him? He did not know but it did not stop the small spark of emotion that rose in him as he stepped through the grass and rock. 

For once Rose and Hux’s roles were reversed. He walked with confidence and quickness, his long legs outpacing her small ones. He was no longer the oaf that traipsed through her forest and she no longer the confident witch who skipped through roots and rocks without a care. Though the land was less treacherous the hills were steep. His legs were made for such climbs but her small ones struggled to find purchase, slowing her pace considerably. He shortened his stride for her, listening for the swish of her skirts and the soft tread of her boots on the grass. 

They hiked through the hills for a long while, following paths that only Hux knew. He followed them without thought, the memory taking over his limbs. He paused several times so Rose could have some respite. The only sign of distress was the rasp of her heavy breathing and flush on her full cheeks. She did not complain and followed him silently and consistently. As the hills grew steeper she said nothing against him just lifted her skirts and persisted. 

Hux paused at the base of the final hill and waited for Rose’s breath to even and the redness in her face to subside. She gulped in air and rested her hands on her knees, wincing slightly at the new angle. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Though I believe I am the truffle pig now. How do you walk among these hills with such ease? My legs ache.” He chuckled. How was she able to do that? How was she able to make him laugh despite his nervousness? It must be magic. 

“We can rest for a moment.” He suggested. She shook her head.

“Carry on,” she said gesturing forward. He nodded and they made their way up the hill, slower than the others. He told himself that he was trying to accommodate her weariness but in truth he did not want to reach the top. He knew he would see what he came to show her and he would no longer be able to turn back. 

Finally they reached the precipice and Hux stood for a moment and surveyed the land. The terrain had gone flat and a vast meadow lay before them. On the far end of it stood a large pile of stones, a ruin.

It still maintained the shape of the castle it once was albeit a roof and half of one of the main walls. Despite its state, Hux could recall every nook and cranny. He still remembered the color of the banners that used to fly on its parapets and the tapestries that hung on its walls. He remembered the different shades of blue that used to shine through the glass of the now empty windows. He remembered the sound of his feet on the stone and the patter of rain against the roof. He remembered it all as if it were only a few days past instead of many lifetimes. 

“This is what I came to show you.” He said at last. They stood next to each other in silence as they both took it in. He felt her shift beside him and pull the cloak further around her. He glanced down to see a soft look on her face, a reverence that must have been reflected in his own. 

“Was this your home?” She asked, breaking the silence. He nodded.

“Yes.”

“Were you the king of this land?” She looked up at him, brushing away bits of hair that had flown in her face. He looked away so he would not be tempted to brush them away for her. 

“No, just a lord and only for a brief moment. But I grew up here. I was born in that castle and that is where I died.” He wondered if there was still a stain of his blood on the old rocks or if the wind had rubbed it away. 

“You died?” She asked. 

“All demons were men once. You must die a man to become a demon.”

“What kind of man were you?” She looked up at him, eyes curious. He thought about lying to her, telling her some tale that would make her love him but he could not. Lying to her was something he did not wish to do.

“A bad one.” He replied simply.

“I don’t believe that.” She said defiantly. She shook her head dismissing his words. 

“Then you are a fool.” She chuckled at his answer. Her expression turned sweet and soft and he felt the urge to touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin, to remember what it was like to be a man. 

“Perhaps, but not about this. Despite all you claim you have not proven your evilness to me.” Her words made something inside him twist. He shook his head in protest. 

“I lied to you,” he pointed out.

“Yes but that doesn’t make you evil. It makes you human.” He huffed. Her optimism was tiring. 

“I haven’t been that for over nine hundred years.” She let out a whistle.

“That is a long time.” She looked up at him, her eyes soft and questioning. “Is that how long it’s been since you’ve been here?”

“Yes.”

“And yet you still remember it.” It was not a question but an acknowledgement. He nodded. 

“It is hard to forget.” 

“I can see that. This is a very beautiful place.” Her eyes were trained on the green meadow and the ruined castle. 

“It is harsh and cold but you are right, it is very beautiful.” He conceded.

“Harsh and cold can also be beautiful, you know. Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.” She looked up at him, her eyes twinkling. She seemed to be saying more than what her words implied. 

“Are we still speaking of Arkanis?” He asked.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” She said with a mischievous smile. He let out a small laugh, no more than a puff of air but a laugh all the same. She stepped out into the meadow and made her way through the grass. She turned to see him standing on the crest of the hill and beckoned him with a wave of her hand.

“Come on, show me your home.” She called. And he followed. He would follow her anywhere she asked. 

The walk to the castle felt too short. It was just a matter of moments compared to their hike through the hills. He tried to walk slowly, to stall the inevitable but some unseen force pushed him forward. His body and soul were propelled through the meadow toward his destination and there was nothing to stop him. And all the while Rose was before him, leading him, her hands brushing delicately against the tall grass and wildflowers. Before he knew it he was in front of the archway that was once the gate to his ancestral home. 

The stone around the arch had the faded crest of his family, a sea creature fabled to dance through the waves along the coast, snapping its fearsome jaws. Runes of his name in the old language decorated the face of the castle, proclaiming to all who passed that this was his home. He wondered why it was still there and not chipped away, struck from the record of time. He had always assumed his name would have been forgotten at the very least and reviled at the most. In his imaginings he saw his men, angry and betrayed, chipping away at the facade. But there it was, and there it remained. 

“What does it say?” Rose asked, startling him. 

“My name.” She hummed in reply, running her fingers along the stone. 

They stepped through the arch into what used to be the foyer. The walls were crumbled stone and those that still stood were covered in moss instead of the tapestries made by his grandmothers and aunts. Inside the ruins he could see the layout of each room, the ghosts of walls and hallways. He saw the kitchen and dining hall, and his father’s study. He saw the stairs along the wall that led to his bedchamber. And if he tried hard enough he saw the people too. He saw them moving like shadows. 

“What happened here?” Rose asked gently. She touched him tentatively on the arm bringing him back to the present. 

“My life and death.” She nodded and waited staring up at him. He owed her this so he gathered his courage and began.

“I was born there,” he started, gesturing to the remnants of his mother’s chamber. “In the dead of winter. Nearly killed my mother and myself, apparently. But I was a tenacious little brat and I survived. My father was infinitely pleased to have an heir, my sisters had been great disappointments and he had all but given up on my mother.”

“You had sisters?”

“Yes. I did not know them well. They were all sent off to be raised in a convent except for the youngest who was born well after me. But all my elder sisters were sent off before their fourth year, much to my mother’s dismay. She mourned their loss often.”

“How awful it must have been for her and for you,” Rose said with a sad shake of the head. 

“It was one of the many indignities my mother suffered in her short life.” Rose looked at him with sad eyes and bade him to continue. 

“My father’s joy in producing an heir was diminished when he realized I was not a hot blooded warrior but a skinny sensitive child. As the only child my mother was allowed to keep in her care, I was dotted on by her and her sisters and had little interest in fighting and hunting. I was a skilled archer but that was considered weak and unmanly. I was smart and could strategize well but what good was that? I couldn’t beat a man down with my bare hands. I couldn’t inspire fear in my warriors and enemies. To him I was useless.

***Trigger Warning***

My life was misery under his tutelage. His lessons in manhood were brutal and never ending. He tore me from my mother at every chance and brutalized me in hopes that I would become the lordling he desired. And his fury extended beyond me. My mother and his subjects were often used to exercise his fury. He beat them and berated them all because his son was not the man he wanted.” Through all of this he did not look at Rose. He spoke as if possessed, eyes trained straight ahead seeing nothing. He continued though, too afraid to stop.

“And then one day I was. I became cruel and fearsome and I pushed aside my mother’s affections. I became my father’s son almost overnight. And even then I did not feel the warmth of his pride. I watched as all love left me, as all who had been kind to me cowered in fear. And yet my father heaped no praise on me. He still beat my mother with regularity, he still terrorized his subjects. And all his rage and cruelty led to the inevitable. On one particularly beautiful day in spring he murdered my mother in cold blood. 

He pushed her from a tower like she was no more than a sack of flour. I remember the sight of her falling, like a swooping starling that made contact with the ground. The sound of her death was deafening. I remember the screams of my aunts as they rushed to her body, her blood soaking the edges of their skirts. My youngest sister was rather small when it happened and she cried in terror at the sight.” Rose gasped and reached out, placing her small warm hand on his arm. He turned to look at her and saw that she had tears in her eyes. He looked away quickly, afraid of what he might do if he continued. 

“Something cracked inside me then. The anger that my father had built crested. It was not long after that I murdered him. Bludgeoned him to death as he lay in bed. Nothing has ever felt as satisfying as the sound of his skull cracking beneath my bloodied fist.” Rose retracted her hand at his words, swallowing as she looked away from him. He smiled bitterly. 

“I told you I was an evil man and you did not believe me.” 

“I still don’t believe you.” Rose shook her head defiantly as she wiped away tears that had begun to fall. But she did not touch him again. 

“I just told you I murdered my own father and enjoyed it. I reveled in the feeling, Rose.” He was desperate to make her understand. He needed her to stop wasting her kindness on him, to push him away fully. He was not strong enough to do it himself. 

“He was a cruel man and he did terrible things to you. It is not right what you did but understandable.” He laughed bitterly and looked up at the greying sky. 

“You are naive.” 

“Maybe so.” She sniffed. She did not sound convinced. He would make her see. 

“Shall I continue?” She nodded as she pulled his cloak further around her.

“Upon my father’s death I became lord. Any hope that my father’s subjects held, that I would be a kinder ruler than my father, were dashed rather quickly. I did not visit violence upon them but I was not benevolent. I stole away their children to make them warriors in my army. Children made loyal soldiers for myself and for the crown I served, or so I thought. I gave them cruel and empty speeches about the glory of our holdings and our king and sent them on raids to destroy villages and reap ugly rewards. I made men into monsters and felt no remorse for it. 

As you can imagine I made many enemies. Villagers around my holdings grew restless and angry and sought revenge against me and the crown. They were cunning and quick and visited many defeats upon my men and I. And because of my cruelty and my father’s before me, men defected and joined the villagers.

Soon it was clear that I would not win, that my holdings would be forfeited and even the crown that I served would crumble. And worse of all I would prove my father right. I would become the weak little slip of a boy that he always knew me to be. So to avoid the sting of defeat I betrayed my own men. I turned on them and aided the villagers against the crown and even my own holdings. And it was all for naught. I was murdered by my own general, stabbed in the back and left to bleed out on the floor. 

***end of warning***

  
As my life slipped away a tall dark figure appeared before me. He asked me to sign his book. Told me I could have eternal life, power beyond my imaginings, and perhaps one day join my mother in Paradise. So I signed my soul away on empty promises. It was a fitting end for me.” Rose let out a long sad sigh at his conclusion. She looked around the ruined castle as if she were searching for an answer. She turned to him, eyes large and sad as she scanned his face. 

“Do you know what became of your holdings? What of your sisters and aunts?” She let a tear slip down her face. Her sadness made his stomach turn. 

“No. I did not care to know.” He admitted. 

“Why?” She asked. He shrugged. 

“What good was it to me? I was dead and no longer a man. Bound to hell and whoever called me from the pits of it.” He had not wanted to know. He feared the worse, that his actions resulted in their own demise. He sometimes thought of his youngest sister, the one he knew the best. He remembered her sweet little face, her read curls, and the way she would cling to their mother’s skirts. He mostly remembered how she cowered before him, afraid that he might strike. The memory tasted bitter on his tongue. 

“Perhaps you should find out, if you can.” Rose suggested gently. He nodded, distractedly. It was an empty promise but he could not disappoint her further. 

“Was this the tale you were afraid to tell me?” She asked. 

“Yes.”

“Do you think I should hate you for this?” Her voice was slightly incredulous but not reproachful. She just seemed surprised and deeply sad.

“Yes.”

“I hope you know that I do not.” She touched his hand, lacing her fingers with his and squeezing. 

“Why?” He asked, disengaging his hand from hers. Her kindness was painful, like looking into the sun after years in the dark. 

“The story you told me is tragic and you come across as cruel and misguided,” she admitted. “But you are not past redemption nor are you past forgiveness.”

“How can that be so?” He asked desperately. 

“The guilt of your actions eats you up inside. I see it now, plain as day. You have remorse and that is the beginning. I see kindness in you, in your actions and your words. Even your lies and misdeeds are well meant. Your mother’s son is still inside of you, somewhere.” Her words were passionate, her voice ripping up in sweet desperation. She wanted him to believe in his own goodness so very badly. And he wished he could, for her sake at least, but he could not bring himself to believe the lie. 

“I am a long way from goodness.” He insisted. 

“You are not!” She practically shouted back at him. Her hands had clenched into fists and she paced. 

“How can you say that! I am a murderer and a fiend and a coward. I am a demon! What more proof do you need?” He cried out in reply. 

“No one is just one thing. There is more to you. You need to learn to forgive yourself for some of your misdeeds and to continue to atone for others. Your road to kindness must include yourself.” She insisted. He ran his hands through his hair, exhausted by her open heart. Why could she not see the truth? Why could she not see he was beyond hope? 

“I wish to see my mother’s grave.” He announced abruptly, turning away from her and making his way out of the ruin. 

“Would you like me to come?” She called after him.

“Yes.” He admitted. 

They left the castle and followed an old path. It looked well worn as if people still passed through it, their feet smoothing the grass and dirt into submission. Along the way shocks of wild flowers in various colors bloomed. Yellow, blue, and purple blossoms broke up the green of the landscape and lighted the way to the castle’s graveyard.

Several ancient trees stood guard over the graves of Hux’s family. Their branches covered the monuments to the dead and beckoned the living to sit in their shade. As they drew closer Hux saw an abundance of the same wildflowers that dotted the path strewn about the stone of the graves. The colors of them were bright against the grey of the sky and rock. 

His mother’s grave was a statue of her likeness though now it was worn down, the wind making it just the outline of a woman. Wreaths of wildflowers were wrapped around her neck and small trinkets were left along the edges. His mother had ascended into sainthood in his absence, revered almost a millennia after her death. He felt the sting of tears behind his eyes at the revelation. 

Beside her grave was another. It was small and had no statue but flowers were laid there as well. Not as many as his mother’s grave but it seemed that some still paid tribute to this one as well. He wondered if it was one of his sisters, perhaps the youngest, laid to rest next to their mother. He pushed aside some flowers to see if there was a name still etched in the stone. And there was. There in grey stone were the runes of his own name. 

Hux jumped back at the sight, pulling his hand away as if he had burned it. Rose peered over his shoulder and tried to read. She must have recognized the pattern from the castle. 

“It’s your grave, isn’t it.”

“It is.” His voice was a whisper. 

“And someone has left flowers there.”

“They have.” He felt tears on his cheeks. 

“You should find out why.” She said as she whipped away his tears with her thumb. He leaned into her touch, enjoying the warmth of her hand for a moment. 

She moved away from him, letting him mourn alone. She gathered some wildflowers and braided them together. She began to sing a sad song, her voice the only sound besides the rustle of the leaves on the tree. When she was done she laid the wreath on his mother’s grave and whispered a small prayer. He felt tears slip from his eyes once again and he quickly whipped them away so she would not see them. He did not want her pity again, though he could not deny he craved her touch. 

“I think I should leave you here. It is almost evening. You do not need to return until you are ready to.” Her voice was soft and she touched his arm with gentleness. He nodded.

“I will send you home.” And with a snap of his fingers she disappeared, back to her cottage. He stood now, alone, to mourn at his own grave.


	12. Honey

The cottage in the wood was cast in the warm glow of the setting sun. Beams of light made patterns on the floor and sparkled on the floating dust. Millicent dozed in one of the strips of light, collecting as much warmth as she could before they were plunged into the cold darkness of night. Rose walked over to where Millicent had taken up residence and sat on the floor beside her gathering the edges of Hux’s cloak around her. She gently stroked the fur between her ears, rousing the cat who let out a small chirp in greeting. They sat in the light together for quite awhile, Millicent basking in the warmth and attention and Rose thinking. 

To say that the day took an unexpected turn would have been an understatement. Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought Hux would reveal so much to her. Never could she have imagined the tragic beauty of his home and the pain that was etched into the lines of him. All his hiding and evasion made sense now, the past was far too painful to reveal. Every word he uttered pulled at the uneven sutures he had constructed for himself. He stood before her letting the wound bleed again. It was a brave act, one she could not imagine doing. 

Her own outpouring of grief had been brief in comparison. It was more than she had revealed to anyone in her life but most of her grief and fear were pulled in tight and the feelings were fresh. But the pain on Hux’s face spoke of an immediacy to his grief as well. Though it had been almost a thousand years since his tragedies he still shook with the force of them. Was that the fate that awaited her if she did nothing with her own pain? If it festered would she feel it so acutely all her life? Would guilt eat her up and steal her soul? 

Guilt transformed Hux. He signed that book with his guilt and his fear. He desired forgiveness but knew it was not his to have. Was he sent to her as a cautionary tale? Perhaps he was some otherworldly warning: let your guilt and grief consume you and this is what you will be. Be wary or you too will be damned for eternity to float about in nothingness until you are drawn out to do someone’s dark bidding. But Hux did not feel like a warning. He felt like something else entirely.

After a time she rose from the floor, making her way to the hearth to start a fire. She made herself a simple meal, throwing scraps at Millicent to stop her demanding cries. They ate together in silence, both parties missing the company of their demon companion. Though they had passed many an evening like this, they had grown used to his presence. It was strange how he altered their life greatly yet fit in seamlessly. He was like a gentle whirlwind, upending and righting their lives all at once. 

Rose wondered what he was doing at this very moment. She wondered if he missed her presence as much as she missed his now. It was a selfish thought and she banished it as soon as it arose. She had left him to feel his grief alone, to contend with the symbol of his own mortality and she knew his thoughts would be consumed by that. Who wouldn’t be? Who would not be struck low by the sight of their own grave? A grave adorned with flowers almost a millennia after his demise. 

The flowers were curious. She could not fathom why they were placed there and by whom. They were fresh, as were the ones on his mother’s grave. Perhaps they were laid there without the knowledge of the grave's contents. Perhaps it was incidental, just left overs from the tributes placed on his mother’s grave, given to the forgotten plot beside hers. It was an explanation but it didn’t satisfy Rose. There was something more to it and she could feel it. She was unsure how she could discover the truth but she knew it was possible. 

She finished her meal distractedly, rising long after her plate was cleared and well after the sun had fully set. The cottage was only illuminated by the light of the fire, making the shadows jump and the angles of the furniture harsh. She left her dish in the basin, too tired and distracted to clean it. She knew it would be there in the morning. She sat heavily on her bed removing her boots and rubbing at her sore calves and feet. Memories of her climb over the Arkanisian hills resurfacing as she rubbed at the knots in her muscles. She sighed, letting her feet drop to the floor. 

She unclasped Hux’s cloak and let the heavy fabric fall from her shoulders. She brought a corner of it up to her face, inhaling. It smelled of him and some far off spices. Cardamom, cinnamon, clove, mint, and the scent of salt and sea all clung to the folds of fabric. She wondered, not for the first time, where he went at night. She wondered if she asked him would he reveal it to her? Would he take her to the place that smelt of cardamom or the one that smelt of clove? 

She brushed aside her little fantasies and stood, the muscles of her legs only protesting a little at the sudden action. She undressed and stood nude in front of her mirror, using the basin of water and the soft lavender and honey soap to wash her more delicate areas. It was a routine she was used to and she did it without much thought, going through the motions her mind drifting elsewhere. But for some reason this evening her mind focused, bringing her thoughts back to herself and her own body.

She examined it in the mirror as she scrubbed at her underarms. She followed the outline of her body, the way her waist dipped in and her hips flared out, the soft ripple of flesh over the muscles of her stomach, the deep curve of her breasts. She wondered, not for the first time, if these things were pleasing. To her it was just her body, something she was intimately familiar with but was not often at the forefront of her mind. She had no negative or positive feelings toward it. She did not wish for a different form but she was not sure if she was entirely pleased with this one. These weren’t thoughts she usually dwelled on but now she let them free, curious to find answers to the questions her body posed. 

Her body had a practical purpose. It moved her from one place to another, it carried her baskets and stirred the spoon in her cauldron, its nimble fingers mended snags in her dresses and washed the stains out of her skirts. Each part of her served a unique purpose and she was thankful for it. And when she thought of all the things her body could do she loved it. She loved every soft curve and sturdy muscle. Every scar and unusual dip, every dimple and ripple shone like jewels to her now, where before they were just there. And now as she stood before her mirror she gazed at her form and thought perhaps in the glow of the fire it was beautiful and worthy of her love from time to time.

She finished her ablutions, taking her nightgown and slipping it on. She trotted over to her bed, slid under the blanket with little ceremony. She attempted to find rest, closing her eyes and counting her breath. She tried to focus on the slow inhalation of air, on the gradual relaxation of her muscles, on the promise of dreamless sleep but it did not come. 

She grew restless. She felt tired, her very bones felt tired, yet she could find no relief. Her bodily weariness felt inconsequential for her mind was infuriatingly active. Behind her eyelids was not darkness but the ghost of memory. Her thoughts did not drift to the nothingness of repose but to feelings she had thought she had successfully buried. So much had happened that day that other thoughts had eclipsed the ones that drifted forth now. 

Like some specter from ages ago, memories of their time in the river flooded forth to haunt the moments before sleep. Everytime Rose closed her eyes she saw Hux’s pale freckled shoulders, the way the river water rolled down his back disappearing as it met the water at his hip. If she concentrated hard enough she could see the curve of his ass just below the surface. She heard his laugh, and the soft rumble of his voice. The ghost of those moments hung about her thoughts bringing her torment. 

Her skin was on fire. A never ending blush had settled on her cheeks and dipped down her chest. Everytime her mind wandered to thoughts of him, of his body bare and shining in the sunlight, the heat would redouble. The fire of it began to travel down her body like the droplets of water that rolled off of Hux’s shoulders. God help her, she was painfully aroused. Her core ached thinking of him. She wondered at the nature of her feelings. Never had she felt lust like this. Never in all her years had she desired another in such a way.

Rose knew she would be alone for hours. Hux would surely stay the night in Arkanis, listening to the crashing waves or sitting below the tree that hung over his mother’s grave. He needed time there and she was pleased to know that he had time to contemplate his fate, his mortality. And she was even more pleased to know she had time on her hands, time to take care of her problem. 

She sighed as she made her decision, rucking up the hem of her nightgown letting the fabric pool at the curve of her waist. She planted her feet on the bed so she might have better access to her core and slid her hand between her legs feeling the slickness there and the sweet relief of her own touch. 

She did not take her time, did not ease herself into the action, she went directly to her clit running her fingers in circles around it. She sighed in relief at the contact. Rose tried desperately to go about this like she would go about a spell; pleasurable but perfunctory. She did not wish to dwell on her thoughts of Hux, to think of the way the muscles of his shoulders rippled as he moved. She did not wish to think of his smile, or the way the light shone off of his hair. But she thought of all those things as she worked herself. She was lost in the pleasure but not completely. Her own touch was not bringing her the relief she needed. She was close but not quite at the edge. 

In her frustration Rose did not hear the sound of the door unlatching or the soft tread of Hux’s booted feet as he entered the dark cabin. Her eyes were closed, brow furrowed in concentration, lips parted as a small gasp escaped her throat. She was unaware of the vision she painted in moonlight, how beautiful she looked. 

“Rose?” Hux’s voice was strained but soft as he shattered her solitary world. She stilled, like a deer caught by a hunter, her eyes slowly opened to see his form only partially illuminated by the light of the moon. She could only see his profile in shadow, no features were visible to her, no expression she could read. Her heart felt as if it would beat out of her chest. She had been on fire before but now the heat grew unbearable. She could feel the sweat dripping down the back of her neck and the back of her knees. Beads of it trailed down her skin, making her shiver.

He moved closer to the bed, slowly, as if he would spook her. Her breath came in great huffs as he approached and stood at the foot of the bed. The image of him standing there made her think of the tales of night hags, of demons haunting young women in their sleep. And yet this demon haunted her every hour, her every thought was filled with him and now he stood to witness the depravity he had caused. He was silent and unreadable, the moonlight only showed the outline of him, the barest glint of his eyes. It was both a curse and blessing to be unaware of how he looked at her. 

“Do you need help?” His voice was pitched dangerously low. It rumbled through the cottage like thunder. 

“Help?” Rose’s voice was breathy, barely heard over the pounding of her heart. 

“That’s what I’m here for, to help you,” his voice was even. He spoke as if he were merely talking about cutting herbs for her or washing the dishes. He acted as if his help now would not change everything about the way they lived, about the nature of their tenuous relationship. And, god help her, she desperately wanted his help.

She nodded.

“Alright.” She moved back along the bed pulling the blanket that covered her bottom half away. She sat exposed, her shift rucked up to her waist, her core bare and open to the night air and Hux’s gaze. For a moment he did not move. He was as still as a statue staring forward into the darkness. She was unsure about how much the dim light exposed, if he could see the skin of her thighs and belly, if he saw the glint of her moisture reflecting the scant light of the moon. 

Slowly he moved forward, his knees falling to the edge of the bed. It creaked under his weight and she wondered if they would both fit on the small expanse of her mattress or would the bed break under the weight of their transgression. But for the life of her she could not care. She wanted this moment so desperately it made her chest ache. What depravity had befallen her? What made her lust spike so?

He lent forward, his hands reaching for her. His long fingers slid up her thighs, tracing the soft skin there. Her breath caught at the sentastion, the warmth of them branding her. She wondered, in the light of day, would there be marks where his skin touched hers? He laid his front along the mattress so his face hovered over her core, his breath ghosting over the heated flesh. She gasped at the feel of it, at the knowledge he was so close to where he needed to be. 

“Is this alright?” His voice was hoarse, almost pained, as if he struggled to speak. All words had left Rose and she nodded her head. He seemed to catch her meaning, despite the darkness, for he dipped his head and let his lips touch the inside of her thigh. The touch was soft, barely a touch at all and yet Rose moaned at the contact. The sound sparked something in Hux. His touches went from gentle to rushed, passionate. He pulled her close, dragging her body toward him on the bed. He mouthed along her thighs, his kisses becoming heated. Teeth and tongue bruised her flesh and left her quaking. Her breath came out in gasps as he moved closer and closer to her core. His fingers dug into her hips as he pulled her along the bed toward his awaiting lips. Finally, to Rose’s great relief, his mouth found her center.

Hux’s tongue licked a long strip right through her, making her jump and whine loudly at the contact. He hummed in appreciation, licking into her again and again. Her breath stuttered as he continued. Her one hand clutched the blanket as the other found its way into his hair. It was as soft as she imagined, the thick strands of it like silk between her fingers. He moaned in appreciation as she pulled on them. Her gasps turned into a deep moan at the feel of his voice on her fevered skin. 

Rose’s thighs shook as he continued swirling his tongue around her core. He sucked on her clit making her hips jump and her legs squeeze around his ears. His hands moved to pry her legs apart and he slipped one long finger into her opening. She cried out at the sensation, the fullness of it overwhelming. Her small fingers were never enough and just one of his felt like Paradise. He crooked it, sending sparks along her spine and making her gasp. She was so close, she felt the beginnings of her crisis spark along her body, from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair. 

“Please, please, please,” she begged over and over again as she came closer and closer, climbing further up the precipice. He moaned into her core, the vibrations of it sending her tumbling over the edge. She cried out as her back arched off of her small bed, both hands buried in his hair pulling as gently as she could manage in the moment. 

He continued licking into her through it all. When she came down she gently pushed him away, her fingers softly carding through his mussed hair. In the dim light she saw how he looked up at her, breath coming out fast. She wondered if she should kiss him. She felt the need to touch him as he touched her, she wanted to feel his pleasure as he felt hers. 

“May I help you?” She asked softly as he rolled to his side.

“Your pleasure is mine,” he replied. He sat up and pulled his boots off. 

“I think I could find pleasure in pleasing you,” her voice came out surer than she felt. He stilled for a moment, his face turned away from her. He seemed to mull over the proposition for a bit before he began to remove his doublet leaving him only in his tunic and hose. He ran a hand through his hair as he leaned his back against the wall. 

“I am here to serve _you_ , Rose,” his voice had gone quiet barely above a whisper. She sighed and moved toward him. She reached resting her hand on his cheek.

“You can serve me and yourself. You’re a very talented man,” she felt his cheek move as his mouth turned into a smile. He moved toward her and she laid back her body moving with him as he positioned himself above her and between her legs. She could feel his hardness between her legs, the brush of it against her sensitive flesh making her gasp. He pushed her shift up past her waist revealing the underside of her breasts to his touch. His long fingers brushed against the skin that covered her ribs. She could have sworn she felt them shaking. How could a little witch such as herself make a demon quake?

“Would you take this off?” He asked softly, tugging at the fabric of her nightgown. She nodded.

“Only if you take off your tunic,” she replied coyly. He nodded, sitting back on his knees and pulling the offending garment over his head. She cursed the darkness, wishing that she could see all of him, not just what the moonlight revealed. She quickly divested herself of her nightgown, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. He leaned forward, bringing his hand to her cheek, drawing soft circles with his thumb.

“May I kiss you, Rose?” He asked. 

“Please,” was her whimpered reply. He leaned forward, capturing her lips in an achingly sweet kiss. Despite his earlier actions the kiss was almost chaste, like the taste of her was not on his lips and he was some gallant knight and she was some virginal maid. The virginal part was true, technically, but she was not so inexperienced. So when she launched herself into his arms, deepening their embrace, it was with some skill.

She felt him smile against her lips, bringing his hands to her waist and pulling her close. The feel of his bare chest against her breasts set her even more aflame and she opened her mouth to him letting their kiss turn heated and sloppy. They broke apart with gasps and whispered words before crashing back together. He settled between her legs again, hands pulling at her thighs bringing her core closer to the hardness of his arousal. For a moment all that existed was the feel of him pressed against her. She felt suspended in time. There was nothing before this and there would be nothing after. God help her. 

His lips moved from hers, kissing the corner of her mouth, her jaw, and the place where her pulse thrummed along her neck. Every kiss was punctuated but the scrape of his teeth and the heat of his tongue. Each one was rewarded with a stroke through his hair and a moan of pleasure from her lips. They took and gave to each each other in equal measure. 

His hands traveled along her sides as his lips dipped further down her body, nipping at her collarbone. His fingers trailed along the curve of her breast, wrapping around the soft flesh. He squeezed lightly making her sigh in delight. She covered his hand, guiding it into a pleasurable pressure. His mouth traveled to the unattended breast, lips sealing over her pebbled nipple. She moaned loudly at the sensation, running her hands over the planes of his shoulders and back. 

His skin was as soft as she imagined, like velvet and silk combined. She couldn’t get enough of the feel of him, the warmth of his body, the softness of his hair. She could spend a lifetime touching him, kissing all the flesh that he revealed to her. He seemed equally pleased to touch her, taking his time to explore her body. She grew restless, loving the feel of his hands but wanting more. 

“Please, Hux, I need more,” she whined, tugging gently at the hair at the back of his neck. She felt him smile against her skin and he lifted his face from her chest coming back to kiss her lips.

“Anything for you. I aim to please.” His voice had gone husky but there was a playful note to it that she found rather charming. 

She rolled her hips into his, letting her core drag along the ridge of his length, still covered by his hose. He let out a strangled noise at the action and she felt a surge of triumph knowing she had caused it. His hands flew to her hips, stilling her action. 

“Rose, this will be over before it starts if you continue along this path.” She giggled as she leaned forward planting a small kiss on his shoulder. 

“You’re a demon! Don’t you have some otherworldly stamina you can draw from?” She teased.

“Not that I’m aware of.” He said as he dipped his head to kiss the column of her throat. 

“Pity.” She said with a sigh, enjoying the feel of his lips. He lifted his head abruptly, peering down at her in the dark.

“Pity? I’ll have you know I’m rather gifted in this department.” She giggled, pulling his face down to her and wrapping her legs around his hips.

“Show me.” She whispered. And show her he did. 

Before she could think his hands found their way to her core, stroking the length of her. She gasped and whined at the sensation, drawing him closer.

“God you’re wet,” he whispered with quiet reverence. All she could do was nod, letting out a small whimper of agreement.

After many agonizing minutes of his gentle attention she felt him shift and pull down his hose to allow his erection to spring forward. She couldn’t see him in the dark but she could feel him surrounding her, like she had crawled inside of him and took up residence in the space below his ribs. All she felt was the heat of him, the softness of his skin, and then the fullness of him inside her as he gently, so very gently, pushed his cock into her waiting cunt. 

They both moaned as they joined, their voices a broken harmony. They stayed perfectly still for a moment letting their bodies settle into each other. Slowly he thrust into her, accommodating the slow stretch of her body. It was not painful but not quite pleasurable at first. Rose felt the tightness of it rather than the ecstatic fullness that she knew awaited her. 

“Are you alright, little witch?” Hux’s voice was strained but gentle. She smiled at the way he said _little witch_ , enjoying the use of the appellation. 

“Yes, truffle pig.” He huffed a laugh at that, dropping his head to her shoulder giving it a gentle kiss.

“You slay me.” She giggled, the action moving her body slightly and allowing him to inch further and further inside her. She sighed, her muscles relaxing and the feeling becoming more pleasurable. 

“It feels good, Hux.” She moaned, and he moaned alongside her. He moved with purpose, his thrusts gentle but effective. Before long she was gasping, leaving opened mouth kisses along his shoulder and neck, nipping at the skin there. Her fingers danced along his arms and back, gently running across him. When he hit a particularly sensitive spot she whined his name. 

“Hux.”

“Please,” he stuttered, “please call me Armitage.” She nodded against his shoulder kissing his jaw as she whispered his name. He moaned at the sound of it, his thrusts becoming more urgent.

He dipped a hand between them, finding her clit and rubbing small, deliberate circles around it. She moaned at the feel, letting his name fall from her lips in a shattered gasp. The pleasure was mounting and she could feel her crisis on the horizon, based off the sounds he was making he was not far behind. She tumbled over the edge with a sharp gasp, back arching off the bed. She shivered around him, nails digging into the muscles of his shoulders, his name like a prayer on her lips. He followed quickly, releasing inside of her with short powerful thrusts that made her quake all over again. 

He rolled away from her, his back as much on the mattress as it could be. She inched over trying to make room for him but it was no use. He let out an annoyed huff and turned on his side, using his narrow body to their advantage. She turned her head toward him trying to make out his face in the low light. She saw the outline of his nose, and the slight curve of his full lips. She leant forward and gave him a gentle peck.

“You did well, demon. I am thoroughly pleased.” She felt him smile. His hand reached out for her, finding the dip of her hip. He pulled her closer, lips finding the spot where her neck and shoulder met.

“Is that so?” He asked against her skin. 

“Mmhmm. You might even say I’m sated.” He pulled away slightly, his lips finding the shell of her ear. He bit her earlobe making her gasp. 

“Sated, are you? Well I don’t like the sound of that.” His voice was a low rumble, one she felt rather than heard.

“Why ever not?” She asked distractedly. 

“It suggests that you have no more need for me.” She smiled at that. He was a fool if he thought this was the last of them. This taste of pleasure only made her hungry for more. 

“Let me make amends. I am sated for this evening, tomorrow is another story all together.”

“Much better.” She rose, feeling for nightgown in the dark. She found it and slipped it on, climbing back into bed beside him. She noticed there was more room for her when she slipped inside, she no longer had to maneuver around his gangly limbs. 

“Did you make this bed larger?” She asked, brow raised in question. 

“Yes. I do not wish to make love to you on a bed made for a doll.” She could hear the haughtiness in his voice and it made her smile. 

“Make love?” The phrase sounded funny coming from him. 

“What would you call it?” He queried as he pulled her against him, her back slotted against his front. 

“Fucking.” She announced with little preamble. 

“That’s grotesque.” She could hear the sneer that most likely graced his face as the words tumbled out. She laughed, turning her head to look at him. 

“Grotesque?! You’re a demon for crying out loud!” 

“And a gentleman.” He replied. 

“How could I forget?” She said with a laugh turning back around. She pulled his arm around her lacing her fingers through his. 

“Will you stay here until I fall asleep?” She asked. 

“I am yours, little witch.” And with that she settled into sleep, a demon warming her bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Burn baby burn! God this was a long time coming. Hope you all enjoyed this one.


	13. Sage

Hux sat in the middle of Rose’s cottage. It was strangely empty, most of the furniture had been taken out or had been shoved against the walls. It lacked the slight chaos and character that it was usually imbued with and was instead an eerie facsimile of its normal state. Logically he knew it to be Rose’s little cottage in the woods but something about it felt separate from her and thus separate from himself.

He sat in one of the chairs that was usually at the little table but was now situated in the center of the structure facing the front door. Mid-morning light streamed in from the window, almost blinding him, making him squint and blurring the usually defined lines of the doorway and window. It was as if light had swallowed the wall whole, leaving nothing but an impression of what was once there. The light was almost oppressive and yet Hux found it oddly comforting. 

Suddenly a knock sounded at the door. It was forceful and loud, and it reverberated through the cottage. Hux went to stand but felt himself pulled down by some invisible weight. He tried desperately to make his legs move but was unable. Every attempt was thwarted by unseen hands, pressing his shoulders into place. His desperation was not enough to will his body into action and he was forced to endure whatever happened next. 

The door opened on its own accord revealing a feminine figure. He hoped it was Rose, he prayed it was her, come to release him from this strange bondage. But it was not Rose, the figure was too tall and willowy to be his little witch. The light from the morning sun was at her back hiding her face and form in shadow. All he could make out was the outline of her flame colored hair as it tumbled to her waist in a chaos of waves and the dark green of her old fashioned dress. 

“Hello?” He called out, his voice raspy and quiet in his own ears. The woman stepped further into the cottage letting the door close behind her. 

“Armie?” Came a deep yet feminine voice. His brow furrowed, confusion washing over him in waves. No one called him that, save his long dead mother. 

“Mother?” He called, hating the way his voice cracked with emotion. The woman laughed in response, a sharp bark of it. 

“Afraid not, Armie.” The woman moved closer, letting the light reveal her face to him. He saw now that she was not his mother but he was startled by the resemblance. She looked much like her, though her nose was slightly larger and her eyes were sea green like his rather than his mother’s crystal blue. Realization dawned on him and he felt something like fear and an almost startling sadness grip him. 

“Aisling.” He felt tears on his cheeks as he uttered his little sister's name. She smiled broadly, revealing the gap between her two front teeth, a feature he had always found oddly endearing. 

“Dear brother, you remember me!” She reached a long fingered hand out to him, gently wiping the tears from his cheeks. The tips of her fingers felt cold against his skin. 

“Are you real?” He asked, his emotion choking his words. She shrugged her smile softening but it still remained fixed upon her face.

“More or less.” She moved away from him and dragged the second chair over to face his. She was close enough that their knees touched when she took a seat.

He could see her better now, the light somewhat dimmed making her features sharper and clearer. He was surprised to see that she was a woman grown, not the child he had seen last. She had been in the awkward years between womanhood and childhood, all limbs and nowhere to grow them. She was tall like him, but not so reedy, she had had the slight softness of children still. As he looked at her now he saw she retained that plushness, more curves than edges. There was some tenderness in him that was glad she had turned out pretty, not thin and gangly like himself. 

“You’ve grown.” The observation felt hollow, ineffectual, but that was all he could say. All other words left him at the sight of her. 

“Indeed, I became a woman in my time. Though a lonely one.” Her words were sad but her smile held. She watched him for a moment, head tilted in interest. The look reminded him of a time in her youth when she would collect rocks and shells from the coast. She would regard them in a similar manner, head tilted in wonder. 

“What became of you?” He asked.

“What became of you, Armie?” She asked instead of answering. He swallowed and looked down at the hands in his lap afraid to answer.

“I asked first.” 

“Come now, a tale for a tale,” she bartered playfully. He wondered if she smiled like this when she was alive. When she was small he remembered her giggling as his mother and aunts chased her about. Distantly he recalled a time when he would lift her up to the sky and pull her back down in a game that made her shriek with joy. The memory felt sharp, like it was surrounded by thorns and he had pricked a finger trying to touch it. The wound bled and he had no way of stopping the emotion from seeping out. 

“Where did you go, Aisling?” He asked instead, unsure if she would even answer. He wanted to reach for her but all he could do was unfurl his fingers toward her. She watched the action with interest before she returned her gaze to his face. 

“Do you remember the last time we spoke?” She asked though she did not seem to need an answer. She charged forward not waiting for the slow words to reach his tongue.

“I remember it well, though it was long ago. I had figured out your game, how you were feeding bits of information to the villagers and plotting against the king. You were clever but I was cleverer and I sought to help you. 

Late one night I came to your chamber and asked if I could aid you and the villagers. I said ‘no one notices the little people’ and I tried desperately to convince you that I could be your greatest ally. But you would have none of it. 

First you told me I wasn’t as clever as I thought I was. That I was a nosy little brat who didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. But I saw the fear in your eyes. I pressed further and further, trying to explain all the ways in which I could maneuver better than even you could. And when I had worn myself out explaining you said ‘it’s not safe and I do not wish to lose you.’ 

I wanted to embrace you then, but I was afraid you would rebuff me. The words seemed too difficult for you to say, as it were, and I was fearful that touch would shatter the fragile moment between us. Yet I still desired it. I wanted to wrap my arms around you and squeeze the life out of you. I wanted to give you all the love that I had left in me, the love Mother had given us. But I didn’t. And then, by some miracle, you reached out a hand and stroked my head, a gesture I was sure you had lost along the way. I held onto that memory for years, the warmth of your hand was the sweetest feeling I could recall.” 

Her soft smile faltered as she spoke, silent tears rolled down her freckled cheeks. He willed himself to reach out, to make his arm lift so he may touch her cheek. And yet he could not, his hand only reached far enough to touch her knee. It was not enough. 

“I remember.” He replied, his voice hoarse with emotion. 

“So you remember that you had kindness in you? Love? Empathy? Do you remember all our mother taught you?” She asked earnestly. He shook his head emphatically, trying to make her see. 

“But I did not embrace you as I should have. I was cruel to you. I neglected you, left you in that cold place to fend for yourself as I tore children from their homes and taught them to fight battles that were not theirs to fight! I killed our father in his bed, Aisling! I was, I  _ am, _ a bad man.”

“I know you were cruel, brother. Cold, calculating, bitter, angry, even weak but you are not evil to your marrow. You were loved, by our mother, by me. And I do not love evil men.

Guilt is good, Armie, as long as it leads to action. And you have plenty of guilt. You had it even then. Your last efforts were as much to save your own skin as they were to ease the naw of it inside of you. Use it! Make it something better than the pain you carry.” 

Aisling leant forward, placing her hands on his shoulders and sought his eyes with hers. She stared into them for a long moment as if searching for an answer.

“A tale for a tale, Armie.” 

“What do I have to say? I did nothing with my guilt. If you can believe it I grew worse in death, I  _ did _ worse in death. I made nations crumble at the will of evil men, I spilled blood for despots, I helped tyrants rise to power. I was at the beck and call of all manner of crooked people and I did not complain nor did I fight it.” She needed to see, just like Rose, she needed to see that there was nothing good left in him. 

“Oh Armie, you know it was not all as bad as that.” She stroked his hair, a mirror of their moment so long ago. 

“What do you know of it?” He snapped pulling away from her. She smiled sadly at him as she stood. 

“Enough.” She was elusive again, mysterious. Once more he wondered if she was real or some figment of his imagination. 

“What is the meaning of all this, Aisling? Why have you found me after all this time?”

“Armie, you are so close. So very, very close. And I miss you, so very much.” She took his arm and helped him stand. She stared at him for a long moment, eyes boring into him. He felt exposed, like his skin was peeled back allowing her to see the rotted blackness that was inside of him. All at once he wanted to shy away and pull her close. He so desperately wanted to hold her, to make up for all the times he never did. Before he could make a weak effort to move she launched herself into his arms.

Aisling wrapped her strong arms around him, embracing him tightly. She felt so solid, so real. He felt the warmth of her, the strength in her frame. Her arms were a welcome vice around him, the pressure easing the ache inside him. He stroked her hair, felt the silkiness of it beneath his fingers. He felt her shudder and heard a sob escape her lips. She held onto his tunic, fists full of the soft fabric. It pulled in her hand as she sagged into him, letting him support her weight.

“How I missed you,” she wept, “but I must let you go.” And with a start Hux woke. 


	14. Passionflower

It is hard to describe the disorientation of a creature that has not slept for a millennia waking for the first time. Imagine waking from a fevered sleep, the stickiness of dried sweat still clinging to clammy skin, you are both rested yet disoriented, glad to have slept but unsure of your own bodily wellness. Imagine this ten fold, a thousand fold even, your thoughts swimming in a sea of deep confusion and an overwhelming sadness that you cannot place. And then beside you sleeps the most beautiful woman you have ever had the privilege of touching. Her hair tangled around her, mouth open and snoring lightly. Her shift had tugged down in her sleep, revealing the swell of one breast. You feel a spike of lust course through you, adding another emotion to the hurricane inside you. This was how Hux felt upon waking, all swirling emotions and frightening disorientation. 

He reached for Rose, brushing her hair out of her face before he took her shoulder and shook her with more force than intended. 

“Rose, Rose, please wake.” She rolled always from him, face scrunching in adorable irritation. 

“No.” She stated flatly, burying her face in her pillow. He shook her again, earning an agitated grunt and a sharp kick from one of her small legs.

“Rose, I just woke up. Please, wake.” He pleaded.

“Good for you. I am not ready to greet the day.” She grumbled as she took the edge of the blanket and burrowed further below it, trying to escape his insistent hand. He would not be deterred.

“Rose, I, the demon Hux, a creature who has been awake for nigh nine hundred years, slept and woke. This is an event that needs discussion.”

Her eyes remained closed for a moment, as if she would stubbornly return to the kingdom of sleep, unperturbed by Hux’s admission. But slowly her brow furrowed as she began to register his words. In one great flash her eyes popped open and she shot up beside him, one hand grasping his bare shoulder as she looked into his eyes. 

“You slept?” 

“I did.” He replied smoothly. Her brow furrowed more, a frown gracing her beautiful lips. Despite everything, he desperately wanted to kiss them again but he refrained. He would have his chance later.

“How? Why?” She asked, almost angrily. He understood the emotion. When all else failed anger was an easy thing to slip into. 

“I do not know. That is why I am consulting you.” She looked at him for a long moment then she moved her gaze forward toward the end of bed. She stared into the middle distance, the gears in her head turning. She ran a hand over her face, trying to clear it of sleep before she turned back to him. 

“Did you dream?” She asked. 

“Yes.” He nodded. Her brow creased again and a confused frown turned down the corner of her lips. She scratched her nose as she thought. 

“Of what?” She asked. 

“My sister.” Her brows shot up at his admission. She was clearly intrigued. 

“Your sister?” She repeated. 

“That is what I said.”

“Did she say anything strange? Do anything strange?” She asked as she turned her body toward him, giving him her full attention. 

“She appeared to me as a grown woman, not as the child I remember. She did not seem like a dream, though I have a hard time recalling what dreams were once like.” She nodded, as if she understood. She did not. 

“Did she say anything that your own mind could not supply?” She asked. 

“Yes.”

“That is no dream.” Hux reared back at that. He had assumed it was a dream. A strange and bizarre dream for sure but just that, nothing more. Sure there were things about it that made it beyond the scope of normal dreams. But he was an ancient sleepless being who had actually slept so it would not be out of the realm of possibility that his dreams would be beyond what they usually were. This revelation unsettled him. It also made him feel bizarrely hopeful. 

“What is it then?” He asked. She shrugged in response. 

“A vision? A premonition, perhaps?” Rose supplied. 

“A premonition of what? She must be long dead by now.” He rationalized though he did not believe the words that fell from his own lips. The answer did not seem adequate. 

“Did she say she was dead? Is she a spirit?” Aisling had been no spirit. She had smelt of salt air and had felt solid against his chest. She was something not quite corporal but she was more substantial than some long dead ghost. 

“I asked if she was real and she replied with an annoyingly cryptic ‘more or less’.” He recalled. 

“That is irksome.” Rose agreed, nodding her head, brow furrowing deeper in thought. 

“Indeed.” He felt his own brow furrow as his thoughts spiraled. If she was real what was she exactly, where did she reside? Was she a demon like himself or some other otherworldly creature, dark and twisted? 

“What else did she say?” Rose asked after a moment, her soft voice breaking the silence. Hux sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He looked up and away, feeling the emotions he tried to hide rise like a tide inside him.  _ Oh how I missed you. _

“That she missed me.” Hux’s voice came out craggy and hoarse, emotions choking him. Rose reached out then, stroking his cheek with her small soft hand. He looked up to see her radiant smile. 

“Oh Armitage, that’s wonderful.” She said, her voice tipping up in a sweet lilt as she drew him in for an embrace. His arms came around her without thought, as if he was born to do that and that alone. 

“It doesn’t feel wonderful.” He mumbled into her hair, as the sharp pain of Aisling’s loss pierced him again. 

“How does it feel?” Rose asked, still holding him.

“Like a punch in the stomach. I should not be missed by her. By anyone for that matter.” Rose sat back, letting him go. He felt bereft at the loss of her warmth and even worse when he saw the angry look on her face.

“This self flagellation is getting tiresome, Armitage.” She reprimanded. 

“You sound like her.” He mumbles. He could feel himself pouting like an angry child. He was sure it was an unflattering look but he could not help his petulance. 

“Did she say that?”

“More or less.” He replied. 

“Now, look who’s being cryptic.” She chided him, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Her humor eased his pain a bit.

“She told me to use my guilt, to stop with the self pity and do better, to be better.” He explained. Rose nodded, sagely, her smile broadening. 

“Sounds like a smart woman.” She said. 

“Indeed.” 

“Is there anyone you can consult about this? A fellow demon, perhaps?” He immediately thought of the wizard. If anyone knew what this was about the wizard would be the person. 

“I have a friend who may be helpful.” Her eyebrows shot up at his admission. 

“A friend? Aren’t you full of surprises.” She leaned forward, wrapping her arms lazily around his neck. Instinctively his hands went to her waist pulling her a bit closer. Something changed then. The seriousness of their conversation shifted. Seeing her in her shift, feeling the warmth of her soft body underneath his fingers sparked his lust once more. 

“I must retain an air of mystery,” he teased as he pulled her into his lap, encouraging her to spread her legs around his hips. She did as she was directed. “I would be a sorry excuse for a demon if I revealed all my secrets the moment I fell victim to the charms of a beautiful woman.” 

“You’re my victim now?” She asked as she ran her fingers through his hair, pulling his face close to hers. 

“I was referring to someone else.” He teased. She smiled wickedly, pulling his head back a little with a sharp tug on his hair. 

“Were you now?” She practically growled. He smiled, liking the possessive glint in her eye though she knew he was teasing. 

“Mhmm. You wouldn’t know her.” He goaded her.

“It was not her name on your lips last night. It was mine.” She was right, of course. Her name had been a prayer on his lips the moment he was inside her, before even.  _ Rose _ was his only thought when he saw her in the moonlight, hand between her legs, brow furrowed in frustrated pleasure. He would have spoken it aloud if his tongue had not been buried in her sweet cunt. He could not go on with his teasing lies any longer, he needed her desperately. 

“I’ll admit it, she is a fiction. I was trying to prevent you from getting a big head but it seems as if I failed.” She grinned, nipping his lower lip as she gave him a quick kiss. 

“Miserably. Though I think you could make it up to me.” She replied as she ground her hips down on his hardening cock. 

“How’s that?” He gasped. 

“Fuck me.” He moaned at her words. He loved to hear that filth fall from her lips. 

“Oh how I hate that word.” He lied. 

“ _ Make love  _ to me then.” She countered. He practically pounced on her, making her fall back against the bed with a shriek.

“That I can do.” He said into the skin of her neck as he ran his tongue along it. He nipped at the skin over her pulse, delighting in the low moan that escaped her. She was so responsive, so sensitive to his touch. 

Hux never thought he was much of a lover before. He had affairs, trysts, and various sexual encounters that varied in intensity throughout both his lives. He heard no complaints and everyone walked away satisfied but he had never been with someone who seemed so enraptured by his touch. Every brush of his fingers on Rose’s skin earned him a sweet smile or a soft sigh. She seemed to delight in him, in everything he did. It was some strange miracle and he thanked every deity he could think of for blessing him so. 

The morning light illuminated all that was shrouded in darkness from the night before. He lifted her shift up and away from the glory of her body, revealing every hill and valley that her clothing usually hid. 

Her skin was beautiful, warm in color though fair in the places where the sun did not touch her. Small moles dotted her skin and silvery lines stretched across her thighs and sides, like lightning across the sky of a setting sun. The landscape of her was glorious, awe inspiring. And her breasts were...magnificent. He became far less poetic at the site of them. They were full and soft and round and they fit in his hands perfectly, spilling slightly over the tips of his fingers. Her nipples were a pinkish brown and he loved the feel of them pebbled against his palm. She moaned as he felt them, squeezing them slightly. 

“You like those, don’t you?” She teased, her voice breathy. He had enough shame to blush. He hadn’t been so enraptured by a woman’s breast since he was a young man seeing some for the first time. He couldn’t help it though, they were really... _ nice. _

“They’re alright.” He lied. She laughed, the force of it making her breasts jiggle under his hands. 

“Alright? You can’t keep your hands off them.” She tipped her head down to stare at his large hands and the way her flesh spilled out around them. He made a move to remove them but her hands came up to cover his, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Do you want me to?” He asked. 

“No. Though I know another place where your hands are needed.” Her eyes turned from laughter into heat rather quickly, making the air feel electric around them. 

“Oh really?” He breathed, leaning forward to kiss her lips. She hummed against them before taking his bottom lip between her teeth and biting gently. She pressed down on one of his hands with her own, guiding it slowly down her body. They traveled together over the plains of her, rising and dipping over the swell of her stomach, between the valley of her thighs until his fingers dipped into the cavern there. He felt the slick heat of her center, moisture collecting on the tips of his fingers. His hand slid through her with ease, her want easing his path. She gasped, her brow furrowing at the contact. 

Though Hux had been blessed with many powers nothing made him feel more powerful than this. He was a king, a warrior, a god when he made Rose gasp with want. She was helpless beneath his fingers, writhing under the power of his hands on her fevered flesh. She shook below him, eyes closing in rapture.

“It feels so good,” she moaned, seemingly unaware of the words that escaped her lips on a shivering breath. Those words felled him and he came crashing back to earth. How could he ever think he was so above her? He was a peasant, a pitiful creature not worthy of her glory. She held all the power. He was made weak by her pleasure. He would do anything to make her sigh his name as she did now. He would give away all the magic he possessed just to see the warm satisfied smile that graced her lips. What a fool he was. 

Slowly and deftly he unraveled her and she in turn unraveled him. She gasped and moaned her pleasure and he swallowed each noise greedily. Every word from her was a grateful cry or a demand for more and he gave and gave until there was nothing left. His arm ached from the force of her pleasure but he was powerless to stop, desperate to see her fall apart. She shuddered around his fingers, hands fisted in the sheets and he brought her to completion. 

After the small shocks of her pleasure subsided she sat up and turned to him. Her eyes had a predatory glint in them as she crawled toward him, urging him to sit up. He pressed his back against the headboard, his eyes watching her in hungry anticipation. 

“Remove your hose. I wish to see you.” Her voice was low and husky and the sound of it went straight to his aching cock. He was helpless and eager to obey. 

“As the lady wishes.” She grinned as he slid the last vestiges of his clothing, throwing the offending garment on the floor. She gasped at the sight of him, eyes lighting up with naked curiosity. She leant forward, still on her knees and grabbed his cock with one small hand. He gasped loudly at her boldness earning a chuckle from her lips.

“Does it feel good?” She asked as she slid her hand up and down him with a pressure that made his breath stutter.

“Too good.” He replied on a moan.

“Can that be?” She asked.

“Yes. If you want me to make you fall apart again I would suggest you stop.”

“What if I want to make  _ you _ fall apart?” She asked, her hand pumping him with a little more force and vigor. His eyes closed for a moment, too rapt in pleasure to focus. 

“Then, by all means, continue.” His voice was hoarse and he could feel himself getting closer to release. Abruptly she let go and his eyes popped open. She was smiling broadly at him as she moved closer, swinging her leg over to straddle him. 

“I am too selfish. I would have you inside of me again.” She grabbed him again, running the tip of his cock along her slickness, making them both gasp at the contact. 

“Bless your selfish nature.” He moaned as she slid down him, taking his cock to the hilt in one deft stroke. He burned with pleasure, the heat of her cunt searing him. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he reveled in the sensation, so happy to be home inside of her. He opened his eyes slowly and saw her before him, all beautiful curves and soft inviting skin. Her face pinched in pain and discomfort. His heart stilled and all the rapture he felt just a moment ago was replaced with terror. 

“Rose, my love, are you alright?” He asked, stroking her face, eyes alight with worry. She shook her head, trying to dislodge his hand.

“I’m alright. Just...a little sore is all.” She moved just a bit, wincing as she did. 

“This needn’t go any further.” He assured her. She shook her head again. 

“I’ll be fine. Give me a moment.” She rested her hands on his shoulders, breathing deeply as she adjusted to him. 

“I’ll give you all my moments, little witch.” She smiled widely at that, leaning forward to capture his lips. They kissed for a long while, trading breaths and nips as she adjusted to him, relaxing into the warmth of his body. He stroked his hands along the expanse of her back, fingers digging into the flesh of her ass, making her hips shift just a little. They both gasped, pleasure spiking in him and hitting her for the first time.

“Do that again,” she commanded and he obeyed. They found a rhythm quickly, each finding pleasure with each roll of their hips. Any vestige of discomfort was wiped away and Rose’s face took on the soft rapturous look of pleasure. 

The position they found themselves in lended itself to more intimacy than the night before. There was a closeness to it, their chests pressed together and their arms wrapped around each other in a soft embrace. Her fingers found their way into the depths of his hair, her fingers scratching gently against his scalp. The feeling made him shiver and earned him a breathless laugh from her lips. 

He ran his hands along her spine, feeling the knots of her bones and the shift of her muscles beneath her skin. He moved one of his hands to her front, running it over the swell of her breast before dipping down to where they were joined. He teased her clit, earning a low whine from her lips and the flutter of her cunt around his cock. She was spiraling toward her peak, her breath coming out in gasps and soft pleas. 

“Sweet stars,” she moaned as she tugged gently on his hair. He grinned, enjoying the sharp pain that lit up his scalp. She was a benevolent goddess, rewarding him with pleasure and pain. He moaned as he felt her peak. Every muscle inside her tightened as her legs shook and her back arched in the cradle of his arms. She screamed his name, voice hoarse with pleasure and he spoke hers in return, his own peak hitting him with such force he felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. 

The fell back, arms and legs still intertwined, the soft mattress breaking their fall. Rose let out a huff of laughter as Hux tried to gently disentangle himself from her. He accidentally elbowed her in the ribs, making her laugh harder as she rolled away from him. 

“Those things are dangerous.” She giggled. He rubbed at his elbow, self conscious of his sharp edges. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. She gave him a benevolent look, reaching a hand out to pull him closer again. 

“Don’t be. I’ll suffer an elbow for the pleasure of your company.” She assured as she lay a small peck on his lips. He smiled at her omission, inching closer to her so they could lay together, bodies flush. 

“I’m sorry you must suffer it.” He told her, meaning every word. She shrugged, undaunted by the idea of pain. 

“We all must sacrifice comfort here and there.”

“I would prefer it if you didn’t have to. I would protect you from all discomfort if I could,” he proclaimed. He hoped his statement was a romantic one. Judging by the roll of her eyes, it was not.

“You needn’t. I’m not some delicate flower.” She told him as she pulled his arm around her, taking his hand in hers.

“Your name is Rose.” He countered. 

“True but all roses have thorns.” He laughed a little, adjusting himself so her head lay on his chest and he sat half up, back resting on the headboard. 

“I would be your thorn.” He told her. She chuckled and shook her head. 

“I have my own. I do not need protecting.” Something inside him contracted at her words, an old wound reopened. 

“Then what use am I?” He asked, trying to maintain levity with his tone but failing. She turned to look up at him, sweet reassurance in her eyes. She lifted a hand to his face, stroking her fingers along his cheek. 

“You needn’t be a use to me. Love is not dependent on usefulness.” She assured him. The wound inside him seemed soothed by her words.

“Love?” He asked. She nodded, smile broadening just a bit. 

“Yes. Love.” He could feel the smile on his face grow exponentially. It made his cheeks ache with the force of it. 

“I like the sound of that.” 

“But do you understand it?” She asked him earnestly. His brow furrowed a bit, not sure what she meant. 

“I am familiar with the term.” He assured her. Rose shook her head. 

“That is not the same as understanding.” He sighed. She was right of course. Love was a language he had just started learning again. He was not as well versed in it as she.

“Are you a patient woman?” He asked her. She smiled. 

“I like to think I am.” 

“I would be a willing student if you were my teacher.” Her smile widened and she sat up, planting a searing kiss on his lips. 

“Do you know that is probably the most romantic thing I have ever heard?” She told him, her cheeks flushed with joy.

“I try.” He teased. She laughed. 

“No you don’t!” She said as she swatted his arm playfully. He reached out and tickled her sides in retaliation. She shrieked and pushed his hands away.

“At least buy into the fiction to save my pride.” He begged her. She shook her head laughing again. He lived to make her laugh.

“Your pride means nothing to me.” She told him as she approached him warily, gingerly resuming her place at his side. He decided to call a silent truce, not wanting to drive her away from him. 

“Hmm. I’ll have to remember that.” And with that they settled into companionable silence. And that silence settled into a companionable sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im sorry this took so long! I’m struggling with this one to be honest. I know where this is going and now I have a better idea of how to get there but it took a minute! Thank you all for your patience and I hope you enjoy this little interlude. We will be back to a more plot heavy chapter next.
> 
> Also! I have a Twitter! If you want to follow me there please do! I post mostly dumb shit but I would be very happy to receive prompts and questions and the like there. I’m @friendofdimpy on Twitter. Please follow for some trash content.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m having fun with this fic and I hope you are too! Please comment, I am a big fan of constructive criticism.


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